


Sirens and Selkies

by SE_Soignee (Soignee)



Series: Disconnect Universe [2]
Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Case Fic, Crime Scenes, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Multi, Murder, Police Procedural
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-04-23 08:04:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 68,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14328147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soignee/pseuds/SE_Soignee
Summary: When a body of an ex-Alliance Corporal is found in the Lower Ward slums of Zakera, Kolyat is first on the scene.But it’s not just the case that bothers him, it’s his colleagues. Genetically perfect girlfriends, Citadel politics, a recalcitrant cat and enduring Bats T’Lori- it’s all in a week’s work for Detective Kolyat Krios.(Set before the events of Disconnect, after the Reaper War.)





	1. First At The Scene

THE ROOKERIES, DAY ONE  
_10:01 am_

First on the scene was never easy.

Thanks to C-Sec protocol I had to remain within a 10-metre boundary of my discovery until backup arrived, but only if I was safe. Since the only thing assaulting me from the Lower Ward slums was the smell, I breathed through my mouth and got on with it.

All I could do was stare at the trash, my back to the Rookerie’s latest victim. I needed fresh air-

_-the winds of The Overhang slapped my face as I ran along the edge of the waves, salt in my mouth. I felt I could run forever when it got like this; For once Kahje was beautiful, even the endless fucking rain was-_

Not that the view was much, thanks to the gloom. I could see a used heatsink I needed to tag and bag, too degraded with age to be of any use; several cracked beer bottles scattered around the hovel might have something for the bioscanners, but they looked too old.

Shards of glass lay hidden under ration wrappers, an Alliance logo just visible even in the dark. I recognised them as an old brand no longer used for rations, back when the Citadel still stationed itself in the Sol System. A lost cause for evidence, but I would still annoy the CSI and ask for it to be taken away.

No one should die here, not in this filth. No one should make it their home, but it was. The Lower Wards never used to be this bad, even if those at the top made a good job of sectioning it off before the war. They still do, but a politician or two thought social housing could-

_-have I shown you the plans for the new apartments?’ she said, leaning over the table. ‘For the Lower Wards, I mean. We just need funding, but don’t we always?’  Her purple dressing gown opened at her pale throat, a rash forming from our last-_

-not _now,_ Ori.

I heard a shout somewhere, something my translator couldn’t catch. Once the locals worked out I was C-Sec they closed their doors and left me to it, alone and ignored with the victim.

The holotape boundary glitched as I moved closer to him, though I still didn’t know who he was. All species had an unofficial protocol for naming the nameless; if he were drell he would be Tannor Nuet, but our victim was human. I would wait for backup alone with John Deer until further notice.

“606 on Zakera highway, in pursuit,” a voice mumbled through my commline, and I muted it with a swipe. A hacked skycar was a job for the constables, not detectives of the murder squad.

The line wasn’t quiet for long. “Detective Krios?” said a different voice. I knew who it was and almost sighed in relief; back up was close. “You know who’s coming from CSI? The query function is not working again.”

“Lerran Siks,” I said.

“Good! That is good.” Siks was thorough and liked by the working detectives of Precinct 14. “It’s freezing here in the park, I need my hardsuit. Why is the heating off? I thought turians hate the cold.”

“Most species do.” I’m not sure why she picked on turians, but I suppose it was them who moaned the most about Zakera’s constant engineering works on the enviro-filters. At least the anti-grav conduits were on this time; that was a fun evening for C-Sec.

“Honestly Krios. Are we all just aliens to you?”

“What else are you, exactly? Rabid packs of klixen?” There was only so much ‘banter’ I could take, especially with a murder victim at my feet.

A very human sound followed, Hoorik had clicked her tongue. To drell, it was the sound of a something done right, not wrong. “To the xeno-relations department for you young man,” she said, tutting again. “I’ll write you up myself.”

She was joking of course. “ _Hilarious_ , ma’am.”

“I laugh to keep warm, as my mother used to say. Which if you could make me laugh, would help.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Hoorik was fond of talking, especially over the comms. Considering how easily C-Sec channels were hacked by the gangs, we had to be careful with what we said.

“There’s no such thing as bad weather, only bad clothes,” she said, rambling again. “That’s another she liked to tell me. Norway is still a cold country, you know- even after the environmental damage. You should visit, it’s beautiful.”

I humoured her. While the Citadel was still in pieces over Earth, we both relied on the other for relief. “I’d like to. I missed most of your continent on my travels. I have fond memories of Earth.”  

Perhaps Oriana would like to go. We talked about visiting while listening to her scratchy, awful human orchestras. Norway was-

_-the music played on, and she whispered to me. ‘Our hero was dragged by the winter trolls to their king, and they’re all going: "I’ll hack his fingers, I’ll rip his hair- boil him into soup for me-_

“-Krios? The line went dead. Anyone there yet?”

“Just me. But it’s warmer in the keeper tunnels,” I said, as the music faded from my memory. “The temperature is tolerable. The smell is not, to warn you.”

A snort was my answer first. “That’s where you are? Good, we don’t have to go too far into the Rookeries.”

Her version of soon was precisely five and a half minutes. DI Jamilah Hoorik had no concept of punctuality and arrived in an official C-Sec jacket over a uniform too large for her tiny frame. It clashed violently with the ugly orange hat jammed on her head.

“I’ve set up the perimeter,” I told her. “First door on the left. If a curtain could be called a door.”

“Let’s be seeing this, I- _usch_!” Hoorik paused, gagging at the smell of garbage by the entrance just as I had done. “What is that?” The back of a gloved hand pressed against her nose, but it did not take long for her to adjust.

Most detectives in C-Sec were used to fragrant crime scenes. We had all seen bodies in various states of decay, but it was always their surroundings that got to us the most.  

“Household waste, to put it politely. Welcome to Rookeries,” I said, gesturing the depths behind me. “You’re getting the full experience.”

“I’ll pass.” Hoorik’s disgust lined her face, and she looked at me like it was my fault.

What did she want me to do, exactly? “I did warn you over the comms,” I replied, breathing through my mouth again. “At least it’s not far in.”

“Show me.” Hoorik shooed me like I was an errant child in her way, and I bit my tongue as I moved for her. “I assume the batarian by your vehicle was the one who called this in?”

“I’ll interview him after this.” The man had a varren; no doubt the thing had already pissed on my skycar.

I was thankful for the chance to breathe in the cleaner air outside, if only briefly. The crime scene was through a converted Keeper tunnel, though no one had seen the actual things since the War. Not a surprise really; they all exploded when the Citadel lit up red.

Hoorik gagged again as she pulled back the curtain to the hovel; this place was used as a toilet, no more than a hole in the ground leading into the tunnels below, unconnected to any sort of sewage system. “That’s a recipe for disease,” she said. “We will need three trips through the decon-chamber after this.”

“CSI will be here soon, at least. They’re not fond of the Rookeries either.”

No one knew how the slums of Zakera got its name- one of those quirks of a shared language, I suppose. Back on Kahje, giant flocks of _shunras_ would make their rookeries in parks and gardens, shitting on things seemingly out of spite. All the technology in the universe couldn’t keep them away, but perhaps the comparison was an accurate cruelty; the slums now housed duct rats and refugees alike, but who was what now thanks to the War?

Hoorik peered into the hovel, human eyes slow in adjusting to the dark. Shafts of light penetrated the gloom from the neon signs of the street. We were still on the edge of civilisation, and I could see the skycars of the main lane zip by in the horizon.

C-Sec dealt with murder on a near-weekly basis in these slums, mostly gang-related. The Rookeries were not for living; the gangs made sure of that. “No guns. No biotics. Know who he is?”

“No,” I replied. “I don’t think it’s gang related for our John Deer. No marks.”

“Doe,” she said, correcting me. “It’s John Doe.”

“Ah?”

“Never mind,” she said, waving me away. “Translation issues.”

John  _Doe_ was a human male in his fifties, with patchy hair on his head. A bald spot, or so I’m told, like the thinning of a drell’s scales. It put him in a certain income bracket, the gene therapy to grow the stuff back was expensive.

He had been dead for hours. CSI would be accurate, but I guessed he died during the night cycle. “It might be gang related still, don’t jump to conclusions.” Hoorik had finally noticed his hands.

They were bound with plastic cord; it looked like the tubing of propulsion unit, probably taken from the environment we were in- there was still a large amount of trash in the room. She looked up at me, crouched as she was near the body. “CSES might be working again, try the bioscanners.”

C-Sec’s Enquiry System had its little moments of refusing to work since we moved back to the Widow’s orbit. Our comms were still stable at least, but my omni-tool still showed me the offline message when I poked the network for her. “Nothing.”

“Of course,” she said, crouching over the victim. “The powder?”

A red power was dusted around his nose, almost like it was forced on him. “I noticed. I thought it was red sand from the colour, but I haven’t set up the decon-chamber yet.”

“It’s very brown,” she told me. “If it is it’s been mixed to nothing. For all we know it might be dirt. His face is bruised, too.”

Fucking eye implants. While my career was boosted by the fact I could tell when a hanar lied, it still meant I had trouble with certain colours. “I’ve marked some of the trash for CSI.”

“Ah, they’ll love that I’m sure. Come, let us wait by the perimeter until more arrive. I’ll be with you when you interview the witness.”

We did not have to wait long for the rest of the squad, though they were late. Detective Siso Vitacus was first, a sturdy tan plated turian who had done his mandated ten with the Hierarchy already. Two of those happened in Bacherjit as a rookie, but he was still new to Zakera.

Today was his second day on the job as a detective, and the poor bastard had been paired with Bats T’Lori.  “DI Hoorik. Detective Krios,” he said. “What needs doing?”

“You took your time,” I told him.

“Sorry, there was a hold up at the station,” he said. “Ballistics for the T’onneri case came through. Thought I should deal with it before I came over.”

I had spent fifteen minutes breathing in fecal matter waiting for my team to Gods damn arrive. “If you say so,” she said, amused by my scowl. “Where is T’Lori anyway?”

“Hungover I imagine,” I answered before Vitacus could. “It’s meant to be his day off.”

_-the call wakes me up, and I let it go to the message function. An angry omni-text follows: Kolyat you SMALL DICK DRELL why did you go home early you COMPLETE PUSSY also what is in shard wine, fuck-_

“Hah, serves them right.”

“She is coming,” said Vitacus. “Bats called to confirm a moment ago, asked one of the constables to drop her off. Didn’t want to drive.”

“He,” I said. “T’Lori prefers he.”

Vitacus stared at his taloned feet before answering. “I can assure you my idiocy is not normal,” he replied. “I’m so sorry, I swear I’ll try harder. T’Lori did mention, I just-”

“The shift has only begun,” said Hoorik. “Never mind. It’ll get better, my friend. But you wait here, yes?”

Turians were so very easy to work with, especially when they had something to prove. “Yes sir,” he said, saluting. “Understood.”

We both looked at him, surprised by another casual misnomer. It dawned on Vitacus at what he had said then, his entire faceplates crumpled in embarrassment at our staring. “Ma’am! I’m sorry- I _meant_ ma’am.”

Hoorik smiled. “It is no problem. I suppose it is hard to see my features with my fetching hat,” she said, giving it a tug.

It didn’t matter what she said. Vitacus’s mistake was already replayed itself in his mind over and over. “I don’t know why that came out. I just-”

He was waved into silence. “Already forgotten,” she said. “Lead the way, Krios.” I was clapped on the back so firmly my leathers creaked in protest. Why did humans insist on touching so much-

_-Oriana leaned into me, hands tracing a line of my fins. ‘I like how they feel warmer than most of you,’ she said. ‘Does it feel weird when I-_

-that’s different, obviously.

She was on the surface of my thoughts today, to my annoyance. Ori was going away on one of her colony trips, which meant I wouldn’t see her for awhile. Our goodbyes were notably enthusiastic, and our evening together later would be _fun._

I pushed exactly how enthusiastic they could be out of mind. Oriana Lee was not a thought for a crime scene, and I refused to let her creep into my job. She must be kept separate from my work, far away from the literal garbage I stood knee deep in.

Hoorik pulled me out of my thoughts. “Let us speak to your man,” she said, already ahead of me.

“Yes ma’am.” I tugged my jacket into shape, as if the motion could banish Ori from the case.

Our witness was a middle-aged batarian leaning against my car, and he scowled two pairs of eyes at us when we approached. He had told me his name was Foth Cram'nob when I found him; If the CSES network had been working, I could check to see if that was true or not.

An energetic varren chewed an empty beer bottle by his feet, walking in circles around his owner. “Finally,” he said. “I woulda left, but you might arrest me, or some shit.”

“Thank you for waiting,” I said, side-eyeing the varren. I hated them, I had bad experiences with-

_-fuck fuck fuck,’ I ran and leapt over the crates, gun in hand. ‘Get the varren, T’lori-_

“This is DI Hoorik,” I said, watching as she flashed her ID. “Since you found the victim, may I inquire why you were in the old Keeper tunnels Mr. Cram’nob?”

“Call me Foth,” he said. A cigarette was jammed in his pointy teeth and lit with an omni-tool. I indulged in my own habit and reached for my _se’aus_ tin to bundle a pinch. “I didn’t find the poor bastard,” he said.

“Then who did?” DI Hoorik asked, eyes sharp.

“Snuggles did. Had to drag him away before he got frisky.” My mouth twitched at the name.  “Wife named him. You try calling that out in the Rookeries.”

“A beautiful name for a beautiful boy,” said Hoorik. She offered a bunched fist for the varren to sniff and I shuddered, though Snuggles returned the gesture with a polite lick.  

“Do you walk your, ah, Snuggles around here often?” I asked, shifting the _sea’us_ into my mouth to talk.

“Yeah. No one cares where he goes when we’re near the slums, I just stick to the Keeper entrance. I try not to go too far in, you feel me? Even with Snuggles here to keep ‘em away.”

“Of course,” said Hoorik through gritted teeth. “Though letting your animal defecate in public places is a crime.”

Our witness brought his varren to piss and shit around homes he didn’t care about. Delightful. “I use my omni-tool after to clean it up,” he said.

I shared a look of disbelief with my DI, of course he didn’t. “Did you recognise who he was?” I asked, letting the minor crime go.

“Nah. Didn’t look too hard,” he said. “Was more concerned about Snugs here eating the poor bastard.”

Once he had signed our statement, we let the Cram’nob go. Hoorik eyed my skycar thoughtfully. “How’s the heating in that?”

“Adequate.”

I tried not to sigh at the thought of sitting somewhere warm. “Better test it out, then. Just make sure,” she said. “It’s practically our duty to.”

Hoorik tried to access the CSES network again while the skycar thawed us out, faced only with offline code. Both of us gave up and filled out our paperwork instead. I wrote my first response report; she dealt with the witness statement.

“He looked too well dressed for the slums,” she said, looking up from her omni-tool. “Our John Deer, as you say. He has very nice clothes.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” I said. “Could be second hand.”

_-first impressions are important,’ Oriana said, plucking at my collar. ‘Clothes maketh the man, it’s the first thing people see-_

-a bit like you, really,” I heard over the memory.

“Ma’am?”

“Your coat, I mean. It’s too nice for the Rookeries. That’s not official uniform, is it? Not even the right shade of C-Sec blue.”

I wore a leather jacket over my armour. It just about fit over my stab vest, if I loosened the buckles to make it fit; pockets were too useful to give up. “All drell wear leathers,” I lied. “It’s cultural.”

DI Hoorik eyed me suspiciously. Of course she would- it was her job to believe only what she found out. “I do not mind. It’s bright enough for high-vis, anyway. As long as your name and Ward number are visible somewhere, I don’t care what you wear.”

We weren’t alone anymore. A running blue blur approached my sky car, reaching the windows to rap it once. Bateseda T’Lori leaned down out of breath, head between his knees.

I opened the door to let in cold air. “Why have you been running?” asked Hoorik.

“Ma’am,” he said, nodding. “Sorry I’m late. Wanted to get here before CSI.”

Hoorik stepped out of the skycar, amused. “No need for that. But if you’re well enough to run, you’re well enough to work.”

“Had worse,” replied Bats. “At least it wasn’t ryncol this time.” He noticed me now, staring at him. “Krios, you look suspiciously smug.”

“Detective T’Lori,” I said loudly. To my unending joy, he winced. “How was the shard wine?”

“Blinding. You missed a good night.”

“You sure about that?”

Bats was about to answer, but one of the larger carriers the CSI used touched down swallowed his attempt at a reply. Blowback from the thrusters threw grit into my face, and I coughed into a glove, amused. It was a universal law that CSI couldn’t park for shit.

A spry, tan coloured salarian leapt out soon after, a toolbox in his hands. CSI Lerran Siks had arrived, smiling at us all. He had a habit of dropping jokes no one understood while he worked, but we liked him the same. “Detectives, DI Hoorik. I do apologise for the delay, bad skycar pileup on the highway. Is the scene bad?” he asked. “Detective T’Lori looks quite grim. All I know it’s an unknown human male.”

Bats narrowed his eyes at him, annoyed. “I’m good. Not been on it yet, but hey- at least I’m on time.”

Siks chucked and reached for his omni-tool. “Oh, that aimed at me? You going to allow your detective to speak to me like that, DI Hoorik?”

“Of course,” she replied. “A little backtalk keeps you on your toes.”

“Thought as much,” said Siks, smiling back. “Why have I been called, by the way? All I know it’s a discovery of a body.”

Thank Gods, we were back to work. I was desperate to leave the scene to find out who our victim was. The databanks at the station would at least have something, even if the network was offline.

Siks checked his omni-tool, squinting at something. “What did you find?” he asked me. “You were first, yes? Is the decon chamber set up yet?”

“No, no time. I didn’t get too close,” I said. “But it’s a human male around fifty years of age, possibly older. Looks like he’s been dead a day or so.”

“And why do you think he was murdered?” he asked, eyes flicking my way. Some CSI didn’t like it when detectives had opinions on their job, but old timers like Siks knew we had worked scenes as long as he had.

“Hands were tied behind his back,” said DI Hoorik. “Bit of a giveaway.”

To his credit, Bats did not show us the remains of last night’s shard wine when we returned to our John Doe, but he still looked an ashy shade of blue. “Anything happen in our absence?” I asked Vitacus. He had a scented fabric mask clipped to his mandibles, pocketed from somewhere on his person. Some of the officers wore them when the scene was bad, but most of us got used to the smell eventually.

“Nothing. Few of the locals went past, but nothing major.”

We watched Siks stoop over his body, omni-tool raised. “Seems an easy puzzle to solve,” he said. “I’d estimate six to eight hours, going by rigor mortis alone. My assistant should arrive soon, I’ll let you know the rest after we take him out.”

Hoorik watched him work and ignored her detectives. “Do you need me around?” I asked her. “I could head back and check the databanks for Mr. Doe.”

She finally looked up. “Hmm? No. Since you made a good job of being first on the scene, you can do door-to-door for me. Take T’Lori, he could do with the fresh air.”

Ah, fuck. What did I do to get landed with bitch duty? If I complained, she’d only make it worse- that was the way it worked in C-Sec. “Yes, ma’am,” I said, biting my tongue.

Bats grinned at me. “My favourite partner from the squad. I do so love me a Krios, ‘specially when hungover.”

“I thought you said I was your favourite,” said Vitacus, mouth obscured by his mask. “That’s hurtful.”

“Go away you three,” said Hoorik, tone sharp. “T’Lori, Krios- off you jog, get me my statements. Vitacus, help the rest of the CSI team when they arrive. Now.”

“Yes, ma’am,” we all had answered at once. We all knew an order when we heard one.

Protocol meant we had to knock on every door within a click of the incident to check, but protocol in the slums was a different beast. We knew the predictable string of “no comment” response to our questions was likely, but we would ask anyway- even if one of us nursed a hangover.

Detective T’Lori let us walk in silence for precisely three minutes before he opened his mouth. “So,” he began. “What kind of Krios do I have this morning, anyway?”

“Shard wine wearing off, I take it?” I said.

“Eh, will soon. I hope it’s Asshole Krios, he’s my favourite. His head thingies get all spikey when I poke.”

I mouthed the words _head thingies?_ before I replied. “You’re getting Detective Krios who started his shift knee deep in shit. That’s what you’re getting.”

“Aww, poor little Kollie-”

“No,” I replied, stopping _that_ before it became a thing. “My name is Kolyat. And it’ll be back to Krios for you if you call me that again.”

“Sorry Kol,” he said, grinning.

I would be a Kollie again at some point I knew, and tugged the sleeves of my jacket into shape. “Kol- _yat_. And we’re at the first residence.”

Whoever lived here was rich enough to afford their own door monitor and locking system. Normal for most of us, but technology was backward in the slums, to the point where people cooked their food over a fire. There were several accidents that C-Sec had to deal with-

_-I say we just let it all burn,’ said Officer Tveian, over the stench of the green foam used for the fires on the Citadel. ‘Easier to start again, like a forest-_

“Go away,” said an angry batarian in the screen, scratching his chin. He looked young, and had the forced swagger of just about every pretend hard man I dealt with for work. “I know my rights. Come back with a warrant.”

“This is regarding an incident on your street, four doors down from you,” I said. “A man was murdered this morning, and-”

“-fuck off,” he replied, opening the door to insult us personally. “I ain’t telling nothing to no bluebird.”

“ _Bird_?” T’lori put a hand to his chest, pretending to be offended. “Detective Krios, do you hear that? Sir, if you’re going to racially profile us, at least get it right. I’m a blue _bitch_ , and Krios here is a blue _lizard_. Or teal, if you’re you feeling fancy. Are you fancy?”

The batarian blinked four eyes at us; I don’t think he was used to sassing from law officers. “Get off my doorstep. Talkin’ to you is bad for business.”

“And what business is that?” I asked, smiling. I knew a petty dealer when I saw one. “We’re happy to help those with an entrepreneurial spirit here in C-Sec, all for the good of the community.”

A wad of batarian spit sailed over shoulder as he closed the door, a  _fuck you_ that translated itself to all species. I felt the ghost of it pass my face, and wiped my cheek with a gloved hand out of reflex.

Delightful. I loved my job, _truly_. “Asshole. Good use of our time, doing this.”

T’Lori whistled by my side, face tight with concealed anger. “That sounds likes grounds for contempt of cop.” He brought up his omni-tool interface for a 43b request:  _failure to obey a C-Sec order and obstruction of justice_. “You wanna file it? Could push it to assault if you want.”

“No.” The longer I stayed in this thrice-damned place, the longer we would extend our misery. “Not worth the paperwork,” I said, still annoyed. “Let it go, Bats. Next door.”

He closed his omni-tool with a frown. “Since when are you this chill? You were just spat on by a shitty two-bit thug.”

“Almost,” I said. “He missed.” If he didn’t, I would’ve kicked the door in myself.

“Something ain’t right, why _you_ letting this go?” T’lori paused, his blue brow creased in thought.

I had to watch him think in real time, an almost painful experience to endure. “Yes?” I said, annoyed. “What.”

“You’re finally getting some.” Bats’ face cracking in laughter. My shoulder was tagged again and I rubbed it, trying to keep my temper in check. “I know it. No wonder you’re so chill.”

“Could you stop hitting me? You’re worse than the humans.” I put a polite distance between us both, annoyed again at my choice of partner.

“ _Finally_ , by Athame’s supple tiddies,” he said, hands on his hips. “Who is she? When do I meet her? Is it even a _she_ , anyway? Who fuckin’ knows with you.”

I would sink into the Depths themselves before I would say anything, and let my silence be the answer. “There’re three doors left,” I said, bringing work back into the discussion instead. “Let’s get this over with so we can go back to the precinct.”

Bats pointed a finger in my face, staring up at me. “There it is! You’re totally seeing someone, ‘cause you’re annoyed I mentioned something. You’ve kept that quiet, you scaly bastard. Who is it?”  

I knocked the next door and Bats dropped the act. “C-Sec,” he said, flashing his omni-badge to the peephole. “I’m Detective T’lori, this is Detective Krios.”

A tiny window was pulled across the door. An asari child that must’ve been standing on a box to reach us made herself visible in the dark, face smeared with dirt. “Done nuffin’,” they said, hands over the edge of the hole.

“Hey sweetie,” said T’lori, smiling at them. “Your mamma home? We have a few questions about an incident on your street.”

“Seen nuffin’. Bye-bye policemans,” they replied, and the window was shut soon after.

T’Lori tagged my arm again before I could try the door one last time. “We got a watcher on our six.”

We loved a ‘conscientious citizen’ at C-Sec, the nosy bastards always saw something. Even if what they said was complete garbage unrelated to anything of use, there still always was a tiny, throwaway statement we could bend into a witness report.

I turned just in time to see the window slide back into place in the shack behind us, the silhouette of a human the last thing I saw. “After you,” I said.

The door in question was cleaned until it shone, and was the first thing I noticed when we got there. Even the threshold looked like it had been scrubbed, and as we knocked and made our introductions, a very human face poked itself around the peephole. “Yes?”

“I was wondering if you could help us out,” I said. “There’s been an incident on your street.”

“Has there? Oh.” She was brown haired and brown skinned. I put her at middle age, but the slums had a special way of ageing all species; for all I knew she might be younger.

“Who’s that then?” I heard over her shoulder.

“Just C-Sec. Stay where you are, Creya. Not worth getting up for.”

“Oh.” The door was opened up wider as they spoke. Most of the rooms here were tiny shacks of metal hobbled together, and I could see that Creya was an elderly batarian woman. She sat up in a tiny bed smoking in her nightgown, a kitchen stove by her head. “What they want?”

An odd pair, but I’d seen odder. The door was almost closed again, but my boot stopped it from shutting completely. “They want to know if we saw anything weird this morning. Incident he says.”

“It’s about a recent homicide,” said T’lori, putting on his 'sincere' work voice. “Would help us out so much. A human male was found at the end of your street. We were wondering if you saw anything suspicious.”

“Let them in, Tee,” said the batarian. She was old enough for the skin around her four eyes to sag into their sockets, creased and wrinkled with age.

“You watch your filthy feet, I just swept the place,” said Tee, opening the door again. “VI’s broken again. I always say they make a bad job of it anyway, hands are better. Do you want some tea?”

“Thank you, no.” Accepting drinks in a witness’s home was a C-Sec rule we all broke, but accepting anything from anyone in the Rookeries was a chance of inviting pathogens into your system.

“Good, we’re out anyway. Water okay?”

“That would be lovely,” I said, knowing full well I wouldn’t drink it.

For a home in the Rookeries, the place was the cleanest I’d seen by a long shot. Sure it was still the slums, but everything was scrubbed so clean it gleamed. The pair of them might go hungry for a few days, but at least their floors sparkled.  

“What you after, then?” said Creya, the ash from her cigarette dangerously close to falling. We sat opposite her on a tiny couch that was probably Tee’s bed, judging by the folded bed linens on the armrest.

“There’s been a murder apparently,” answered Tee, holding up a clean ashtray to catch the ash in time. It was then I noticed the faint glow of a tattoo etched in her arm- a barcode for a slave, Tee’s name and number clearly printed.

“Oh. Shame,” said Creya, and I almost believed it. Creya had a similar mark too, though she tried to hide hers under the bed covers when we came in. Batarians had enslaved their own for literal millennia- other species were only a cultural afterthought when they discovered their local Relay.

“Have you seen or noticed anything unusual in the past 13 hours?” I asked. “Perhaps a stranger you’ve not seen before.”

“We saw a new girl,” said Creya, puffing her cigarette again. “But we see a lot of new sorts now, thanks to Ty’gosh. That boy is popular with strangers.”

“Ty’gosh?” I asked.

Tee looked at Creya with a frown, and an unsaid agreement for silence was reached. “Young boy across from us, you spoke to him earlier,” she said. “That’s all we know about that funny business, thank you very much.”

They meant our spitting batarian friend from earlier, the one with his own vid feed installed. I would bet my entire paycheck they knew exactly what he dealt to be so popular, but wouldn’t tell us- not with the C-Sec logos still on our chests.

“Did this stranger visit Mr. Ty’gosh for anything?” I asked. A powdered substance was found around our John Doe’s face- it might be related.

“Probably, they all do,” said Tee. “All I know was I saw an asari who looked like she didn’t belong here. Too fancy.”

Creya stubbed out her cigarette and coughed. “Human! She was human,” she said. “Had one of them funny human dresses on that you used to wear.”

Tee rolled her eyes at us. “No dear, she was asari. She was very blue.”

Spare me from the frailty of memory in other species, Arashu I beg you. It was a daily prayer of mine since working C-Sec, for obvious reasons. “Can you give us a description?” I asked. “Any tattoos, perhaps? What colour was her dress?”

“It was purple. Had her head covered, but she was human. I swear,” said Creya. As she leaned forward for another cigarette, her nightdress opened, and Creya exposed herself to both T’lori and me.

The pair of us stared at the rusting metal of the roof instead, pretending we saw nothing. “I know them hairy bastards anywhere,” said Creya, oblivious to our discomfort.

Tee fussed with the shawl around her friend’s shoulder, but it was too late- sagging batarian bosom was indelibly etched in my memories, no matter what I did.

“No you don’t,” said Tee. “You don’t know your ass from your elbow.”

“How tall were they,” I asked, praying to all the Gods that it was safe to look now. “As tall as Detective T’lori here, perhaps shorter?”

T’lori stood up with a flourish. “About that,” said Tee, and I made a note in the statement:  _strange asari OR human? Seen in the street at night cycle, 160cm_. “Skinny thing, though. Could do with a meal.”

“This has been very helpful,” I said, putting aside my untouched water. It was time to pay our friendly local neighbourhood drug dealer again, this time with a warrant. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

They were the only ones who spoke to us, and a string of predictable no comments followed as we worked the required click C-Sec protocol demanded.

“Those old girls, they was ex-slaves,” said T’Lori, as soon as it was safe for us to speak freely on the way back to my skycar. I hoped it was still in one piece- even C-Sec vehicles were in danger of having parts lifted.

“I know. I saw the markings,” I replied.

“Yeah, but do you know _what_ markings?”

“No.” I raised a brow and let him speak. T’Lori was a Huntress before he became a cop, and chased slavers across the galaxy before he joined C-Sec. Bats knew his shit when it came to the cases that involved their kind, and we all deferred to his knowledge.

“The human, she was that batarian’s maid. A slave of a slave, lowest of the low in their four fucking eyes. And she ain’t a runaway.” Bats made a grumbling sound, his biotics flaring for a half-second in his anger. “Fucking batarians, _man_. They know how to break people, and for them to stay broken.”

I knew he had no love of the species due to his former work, but neither did I thanks to-

_-my mother’s blood stains the kitchen black. I ran away like she told me to, but she never ran from them, why Mami why didn’t you ru-_

“Not that it counts for much now,” I said, swallowing the memory.

“No shit.”

I was never far from my mother’s death during moments like this. Batarian culture was broken and shattered from the war, much like the remains of its people. But the damage would live on in echoes, as it always did.

“We don’t know everything from one visit,” I said. “They might have escaped together.”

T’Lori looked at me with so much scorn I blinked. “Really? ‘Cause that human was still waiting on her hand and foot. Fucking slavers.”

If I was honest, I didn’t pay that much attention to the pair; they were odd, but the Rookeries made many strange bedfellows thanks to the lack of space. “We don’t know their relationship from one conversation.”

I was given another look, this time wrapped in disbelief. “Yeah, we do, Krios. Those marks speak volumes.”

The journey back to Precinct 14 was in silence. The homicide detectives shared the place with the everyday working constables, taking over three of their storage closets as our offices, a conference centre for our incident room, and a half working kitchen we all squabbled over while our base of operations was allegedly being built.

“CSES is working again,” said DI Hoorik, the first thing she said to us when we got in. “Mr. Doe is Gary Deconnick, former Alliance Corporal, and slumlord of several buildings in the Lower Wards. You found me anything useful?”

“Couple of old biddies saw a strange asari around 6am,” said Bats. “Or a human, who knows with them.”

Hoorik looked us up and down. “Anything else?”

“A small-time drug dealer may have something,” I said. “He had a vid-feed installed on his shack, might have recorded our murderer. The, ah, ‘old biddies’ saw this person near his property. We’ll need a warrant.”

“Done. That camera might have something else, too. The C-TV feeds don’t extend that far into the slums, but we managed to find Deconnick’s skycar abandoned three clicks away from the main incident site. Patrol is pulling it in now.”

I fired up my terminal to log the witness reports, and was halfway applying for a warrant when I found T’Lori staring at me. “What?” I asked, annoyed.

“So. This …person you’re with. They have a name?”

Arashu fuck me sideways, not again. “Have you filed your report yet?” I asked.  “An entire shift in the Rookeries is not how I plan to spend my day.”

Bats refused to let it go. He had one beady eye on DI Hoorik’s retreating back before he stood up, making sure out boss was out of the room before he started something.

“Patel!” he said, yelling across the room when it was safe to. “Fire up the wipeboard. We got evidence to log.”

Detective Patel squinted at us both as he came over to join our desks, a mug of coffee in his hands. He was a human in his fifties, with a head of black hair he fussed over worse than my Ori. He also earned the title as the squad's weirdest member; no one liked being stuck in an elevator with him, but at least he had an excellent habit of sharing food with us all.

“We never use the wipeboard for actual police stuff,” he said. The bastard was working a double homicide in the Upper Wards, away from the filth of the slums we were in. “Except that time we had a competition to draw genitalia, which I won.”

“Says you.” T’lori flicked something up on his omni-tool.

“My dick drawings are the stuff of legends, T’lori,” said Patel, grinning over his coffee. “I add hairs to my balls, it’s very important you don’t forget the hairs- I’ll let my ancestors down otherwise, it’s practically cultural.”

Both of us grimaced, to Patel’s delighted cackling. Humans were so weird about their-

_-very pink,’ I said, her bra still in my hands. ‘I thought they would-_

Gods damn it, Ori, _no_.

I had the feeling I would soon be the butt of a squad joke over her, and soon.  “T’lori,” I said, warning him. “This better not be what I think it is.”

“Oh, it’s very important C-Sec business,” he said, grinning. “It’s _The Mystery of Kolyat Krios’s Love Life_.’”

“I didn’t realise we did cold cases now,” said Patel. “My thoughts are with your family at this trying time.”

“No. We’re not doing this,” I said, annoyed. “Fuck you both.”

“Nope,” said Patel. “Already married. And we all know T’Lori won’t either. We’re off the list.”

The wipeboard -now miraculously clear of the badly drawn genitalia of many species- instead had a list of glowing orange names, most of which I recognised. “Here’s the main suspects,” said T’Lori, leaning over his desk. “What you think, Krios? Are we close?”

“Saralis? The canteen lady?” I said, reading the very top. “She’s over a hundred years old! There are stalactites on her mandibles!”

“She’s filed them down now,” said Patel. “Tidied herself up for something. Maybe for a certain drell putting a spring in her step?”

“No, asshole,” I told him, the words hissing out my throat. I read the other names -sorry, _suspects_ \- still furious. “ _CSI Siks?_   But he’s salarian.”

Bats grinned at me. “I bet he gives the best hugs,” he replied. “You know, if you just tell us even the species and gender, we’ll leave you alone.”

Vitacus was trying ever so hard not to pay attention, but the lure of squad banter was a siren’s call. “Hey newbie,” said Patel, nodding at him as he joined us. “What do you think?”

“It’s Vitacus,” he replied, pointing to the printed name on his uniform. “And about what?” His eyes flicked to my name on the board, then back to my scowling face. “Ah. That. I, _uh_ , don’t think about it at all. I’m new.”

 _Good rookie,_ I thought. You stay like that and we shall be firm friends. I nodded once at him in thanks, and Vitacus looked embarrassed enough that he had to take sides.

“Eh, it don’t take long to form an opinion on Krios,” said Bats. “It ain’t hard.”

“Newbie’s trying to be his friend,” said Patel. “Don’t, it’s not worth the effort,” he said, pretending to whisper. “Krios is an asshole.”

“Hey! He might be an asshole, but he’s our asshole,” said Bats, smacking his head. “Watch your mouth.”

“Ow,” said Patel, failing to dodge. “Come on newbs, you must have an idea.”

“‘ _Newbs?_ ’ Patel, my name is on my uniform. Why is this hard for you?” replied Vitacus, blinking down at us. “I know humans have a harder time remembering things, but come on, say it with me. Vit-a-cus.”

“You all have shitty memories,” I said, furiously trying to clean the wipeboard of their prank as my omni-tool blinked at me. “Oh look, T’Lori- the notification for the warrant has come back. Let’s go.”

“Not yet,” said Patel. “Not until you tell us your mystery man. Or woman. Or varren.”

“No. Go fuck yourselves.”

“Ha!” said Bats, pumping his fist in the air. “He confirmed it, they do exist. I’m opening up the betting pool- we have ourselves a case to solve, boys and girls.”

“You have several,” said Hoorik. She stood in the doorway, ugly hat back on, somehow creeping up on us all in the magic way only your boss could manage. “I assume you’re heading back to the Rookeries?”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Bats, lightning fast. “The human male case. Getting back to it, right now.”

“The Deconnick case,” she said, correcting him. “That’s our victim’s name.” Hoorik looked at me then, frowning. “Drell, asari or human. Female, in her 20s. Classy, and probably out of his league for him to be so smitten.”

Smitten? “Ma’am?” I said, confused at first. As the weight of her words fell, I understood her intent. This, even from my DI? _Come on_.

“Your girlfriend, Krios. And it is a girlfriend. Add me to the betting pool, Detective T’lori. 10 credits should be enough- proceeds go to C-Sec’s  _Widows and Orphans Fund_ , of course.”

“Do I have no say in this?” I said, annoyed.

“You could just tell us,” said Bats. “Even better, introduce us tonight at the bar after work. I’ll even buy you a drink.”

“ _Usch_ , and where is the fun in doing that?” replied Hoorik. “You let us know by the end of this case, Detective Krios. A fun little game for the squad.  Keeps morale up.”

“And if I say no?”

“Then we leave you alone, as we are not reprehensible people. Correct?” she said, looking behind me. The squad mumbled their awkward replies.

“Fine,” I said. Why was I doing this? What did it achieve? Gods _why._

“Whatever man,” Bats said, grinning. “This is going to be easy.”

“We’re only doing this with my rules,” I told them.

“Here we go,” said Patel, pretending to jot them down on his ‘tool.

I counted them out on my hands as I spoke. “One: you have to narrow my, _ah,_ significant other down to the exact age, species, and gender,” I replied. “Two: no one is allowed to stalk me after work, either by themselves or with a paid informant, or with a Gods damned tracker. Three: my correspondence will also remain unhacked and for my eyes only, which I can’t believe I have to say.”

Most of them didn’t even know where I lived, and I kept it that way. “As if,” said Patel, muttering into his coffee. “I would never.”

I raised a brow at him, knowing full well he would. “Finally, four: you won’t use CSES, the Ward vidfeeds, or any of C-Sec’s resources to access _any_ information about me for this wager. I’m not an actual suspect. This is just a guessing game for the wipeboard, not a personal stake out.”

“No one will do these things,” said DI Hoorik, making sure to stare at Patel and Bats as she said that. He shifted on his feet and looked away. “This is just a friendly game.”

“Good,” I replied. I had planned for Oriana to attend the C-Sec Policeman’s Ball as my date in three weeks, much to her delight. The squad would be inflicted on Ori soon, whether I liked it or not. “But if you miss the mark, I win the money,” I said.

“Widows and orphans,” said Hoorik, wagging her finger.

“Fine,” I replied. “The widows and orphans win, but the donation is in my name. And you all pay double for getting it wrong.”

Hoorik clapped her hands once. “A deal! Right, festivities are over. Off with you both, and bring me back something.”

“Yes ma’am.” The sooner we solved the case, the sooner they’d leave me alone.

 


	2. The Pick Up

ZAKERA HIGHWAY, DAY 1  
_12:05 pm_

There was something about journeys that made even the stoic of my colleagues chatty. I don’t know what it was about the expedition of time that loosened their mouths, but elevator rides and skycar drives were never passed in quiet, no matter the species I shared them with.

The only partner that could retired months ago, annoyingly. When DI Anelis left she clapped me once on the shoulder -the only physical contact we’d ever shared- and told me I was her favourite detective because I understood silence, even if she never learnt my first name.

“DI Hoorik might be onto something,” Bats said, narrowing his eyes at me.

“What?” We had the lights on the cruiser -but not the siren- to pick up our drug dealer, but still the traffic lanes of Zakera refused to move. I was driving; there was no way by the depths of hell I’d let T’lori control a vehicle while shard wine remained a recent memory.

“You like human shit. Food and vids and stuff. Bet it’s human.”

I really missed DI Anelis. “If this is about the wager, I’m touching down and kicking you out,” I said. “Don’t push it.”

“‘Course it is.” Bats only grinned, blue eyes twinkling with a thinly veiled smugness. “Look at them head thingies go,” he said. “Boy, you are pissed.”

“Not hard with the company,” I replied. “I told you-”

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t shit your pants over it.” He sucked the air in, arms crossed. “So.”

It was T’Lori’s favourite word and his usual conversation opener. _So._ He said it and expected someone to fill in the gaps for him, so I obliged. “We pick up Ty’gosh, we let him stew in solitary while we wait for his lawyer,  then we cross-examine him after we’ve ripped apart his camera.”

“Alright,” he replied. “Sounds solid to me.” There was a pause of all of seven beats before he let out another suck of air.  “Easy, in and out.”

“Not really. We have to look into other connections- next of kin perhaps,” I replied. Why was I telling him how to do his job? He had worked Murder Squad longer than I had, why did I have to hold T’Lori’s hand today? “Business partners too, if he had any renting out the slums. No one’s looked into much, going by the CSES logs.”

“We ain’t been told to, that’s why,” he replied. “Hoorik just said pick up our teenage entrepreneur and head on back.”

“Are you that hangover? Gods damn. We’re detectives.”

T’lori rubbed his nose and took a large swig of who knows what from a travel mug. “What I want is a nice and easy gang murder, that’s what I want. None of this mysterious body shit.”

“Poor thing.”

“Your oversized heart bleeds, I know.”

“All three chambers beat in sympathy.” The skycar finally descended into the Lower Wards, and I frowned.  “Maybe if I park nearer the stores the vehicle will be left alone.”

Bats grunted once. “Or they’ll be the rat bastards who lift the thrusters in the first place.”

I squinted at the cameras as we zipped by, deciding. “The drone network is in range here, seems a safer choice.”

“Who fuckin’ cares?”

There was a shard of bitterness in his reply that made me look twice, a darkness that shuttered out of nowhere. “Me? It’s my skycar, asshole.”

“C-Sec will get you a new one. Just make a decision, man.”

The scorn was still there. “You alright?”

I knew the answer, but whatever was going on was shoved down in the usual box T’lori kept emotions in, the remnants of the night finally catching up with him. “Fuck water,” he said, glaring at his flask. “I need caffeine.”

“So do I. But-”

“After the pickup, yeah. Since when were you such a Galactic Scout? Fuck me.”

I never knew how far out to extend my hand to Bats when he was like this. He would snipe and bitch and pick away at me at every chance he got, but he also made sure the kitchen had my tea, insistent on buying me lunch more than I was comfortable with.

Over the two years we had worked together I had pulled him from enough grungy holes in the wall and grotty clubs to question his coping mechanisms, and in between the shots of awful alien liquor I refused he would sometimes talk about things that weren't titty bars or precinct gossip.

_-they took the youngest first because they’re easier to train,’ he said, wiping the sweat from his lip. ‘I had to drag a girl who looked like my own sister out of the ship kicking and screaming, she was brainwashed to-_

Bats T’Lori did not have an easy war, but since when did anyone? Our days used to be numbered by Reapers, even if they were gone.  “We can have something when we get in.”

“Whoop-de-woo,” he said. “My favourite, tea with a vague taste of chlorine.”

“Might even be snacks, if Patel is feeling generous. Those little pak-kor-rah things, I liked those.”

Another annoyed grunt was my answer, and I left him alone to brood. Sometimes it felt petty to worry about the kava machine not working or the trams being down again, especially since a literal apocalypse loomed in our collective history.

We might live with the remnants of the decisions made by cold machines, but at least we _lived._ If it was petty bitching and everyday worry that made us people, then the Citadel had it by the carrier load. All the technology in the universe might’ve tried to kill us, but-

_-progress cannot cure greed,’ Father said, watching the Reds operate outside the cafe we were in. Earth was a fascinating mix of wealth and poverty; the former ignored the latter, just like it did back on Kahje. ‘Not while those that control it exist-_

We still had a job to do. “We need to go,” I told him, lifting up the safety barriers. I had given him as much time as we could afford to gather himself. “Can’t keep our guest waiting.”

“All good.” Whatever anger Bats had was shoved away again. It would be dealt with later, ignored until he had a drink in his hand.

“Excellent. After you.”

The breather worked, since Bats was smiling at my expense over something. “ _So.”_

“Bats,” I warned. “No.”

“I’m thinking it could be drell, interspecies seems too much like a new experience for you anyway, you’re a boring fuck. Is there a special dating service for you guys outside of Kahje or something? I’ve seen three of you this month, _including_ you. Seems to be the asinine shit you’d do anyway- order in a girlfriend.”

I ignored him and opened the door. “You were warned.”

Bats took my threat with as much thought as swatting away an annoying fly. “For what? C-Sec protocol means two officers are needed to escort a suspect back to the precinct. You need me.” The bastard was right, and there was nothing to do but scowl. “Never mind,  _Kollie_ ,” he said. “I’ll get the tea when we come back victorious, how ‘bout that?”

We didn’t need a patrol car or back up to pick up one wayward teenage drug dealer, but we still had to cover ourselves. If we sent out a tactical team from Special Response neither of us would live it down- the Weapons and Tactics officers were smug enough assholes as it was, but two Investigations detectives failing an arrest would make their week.

The residents of the Rookeries ignored us again, not even doors were opened and closed this time. Ty’gosh Wey’s shack was in front of us after a five-minute walk, the camera we wanted blinking its red light at us.

“Under the jurisdiction of Citadel Security code 61b you are under order to hand over evidence wanted in connection with a murder,” I said, rapping the door loudly. “Please respond.”

“That means open up,” said Bats helpfully.

I knocked the door again, and the metal door rattled. “Flimsy,” I said. “If push comes to shove-”

“-it’ll fall over,” he replied. There was silence, but we both heard noise through the thin plastic sheets that made his home. “Look. You either open your door,” said T’Lori, shouting again. “Or we kick it down.”

People often assumed Bats and me weren’t capable in combat situations, something we both used to our advantage. I was a good enough shot with a pistol, but my strength was speed. I was the squad’s best chaser- no one had escaped me when they chose to run, and they often did.

Bats, however, was a different game of power- to a scary degree. “Knock knock time,” I said.

He was Huntress trained, and his biotics were honed enough for Special Response to headhunt him for their teams. Bats refused, for a reason most of us in the squad had. Despite his earlier nonsense about an “easy” murder, I knew Bats T’Lori well enough to understand he lived for his work.

“Sir if you do not open the door, we will use adequate force,” he said, loud enough now for the neighbours to hear.

There was still no reply. I cocked my head and heard footfalls, further away from the door. “He heard us.”

Bats only shrugged, nonplussed. “Probably flushing his drugs. Probably should do something about that.  _Probably_.”

I sighed, knowing this would be extra paperwork. “Open up, Mr. Wey. This is the final warning.”

Light caught my eyes and Bats jerked his head to the side of the slum. I took the hint and leaned against the wall, his body shrouding itself in a thin aura of biotic energy as soon as I was free.

There was nothing to do but watch the show as Bats peeled off the door with a flick of his hands, a curled sheet of metal bouncing down the street in a shriek of noise.  “Adequate?” I said, frowning. “Really, adequate?”

“My old trainer would have my head crest as a hat if she saw that technique,” he replied. “It’s meant to be folded. Leave me alone, I’m hungover.”

A blur of green and brown went past us- our suspect was on the move. “Why do they always run?” I said, sprinting after.

Bats shrugged, nonplussed. “Stop or we shoot. But you’re going to stop- oh look at that, you did.” I had our escaping suspect down before he knew what I was doing, and pinned to the floor with his wrists in my hands, hardly an effort.

“The  _fuck?”_ he said, too confused to fight.

I was always faster than they thought. “You have the right to remain silent,” I said, shoving his arms into an omni-lock.

“Get off me!”

“Ty’Gosh Wey, I am arresting you for withholding evidence, and suspected possession of illegal drugs. You have the right to a legal representative, which C-Sec can and will provide, should you need it.”

“Fuck you, Bluebird.” Ty’Gosh tried his hardest to kick his way out once he worked out what was happening.

I was going to finish the fucking script before we both got off the floor, even if it killed me. “Let’s make it obstructing a C-Sec officer and failure to obey a C-Sec order too, shall we? It may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you will later rely on during your Citadel Prosecution procedure. Anything you do say from this point may be given in evidence."

Bats helped me yank him up. “I’ve called in CSI. He was trying to burn the drugs by the smell of it, looks like the usual petty varren shit.”

“Those ain’t mine,” said Ty’gosh. “Fuck you.”

“Curious, it’s your home,” I told him, but he still fought our hold. “Look, you’ve been arrested and will remain cuffed,” I said. “We get it. Don’t make me add to your growing list of petty crimes, Mr. Wey.”

CSI was not going to be happy being called back in, but at least one of their vehicles was close this time. “Might need a couple of rookies to guard the shack before its robbed,” I said to Bats, checking my omni-tool for nearby patrols.

“Ain’t much there, to be honest,” he replied. “We was only here for the camera, you know?” he told Ty’gosh. “No need to be a pain in the ass about it all.”

Ty’gosh spat at our feet, apparently he had an endless supply of the stuff. “You can suck it, bitch.”

I yanked his arm down the street to move him along, relieved our backup had arrived in a flash of C-Sec blue- it meant we could finally leave. “Enough.”

Bat only rolled his eyes. “Camera looks easy enough to bag anyway. Even I can even do it.”

“Do it then, and we can all be on our way,” I said. “DI Hoorik is waiting.”

We walked Ty’gosh between us cuffed, and this time the street did pay attention. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Tee and Creya slide their peephole into place, refusing to look our way.

T’lori hummed aimlessly under his breath once we were seated in the cruiser, arms crossed. The ride was blissful silence once we disabled the audio loop of the passenger booth; we let our arrest rant himself into submission, the only sound the occasional code from the comms of our ‘tools. 

Ty’gosh was escorted to the custody cells when we got back, the three of us greeted by the turian sergeant on duty. She remained behind glass, as most of the lockup staff were. Prisoners and suspects were shuttled like cattle into cages from the safety of a desk, divided into kinetic barriers that turned clear when we wanted them to.

“Krios, T’Lori,” she said. “What have you got for Hotel Phalia this afternoon?”

Sergeant Phalia was a middle-aged turian and the walking definition of Clawball Mom, down to the cheerful enamel badges she always wore on her hardsuit. She would often talk about her children at great length if you let her, which considering her job as custody sergeant often caused a traffic jam when we all had suspects to transfer.

“Ty’gosh Wey, aged sixteen, resident of unit 145b of the Lower Wards,” Bats said, passing the information over his head.

“I want my lawyer, _cunts_ ,” he said, right on time with the aggression.

“Original,” Phalia drawled. “What a charmer you have.” She ignored Ty’gosh to look at us. “You always find me the best.”

“Always,” replied Bats. “I’m thinkin’ the temporary holding cells for now, sarge. Hoorik’s gonna want to talk to him real soon.”

“We’ll see, we’ll see.” Her voice changed as she looked at the cuffed suspect between us, and we took the hint and unlocked him. “Please empty your personal belongings into the receptacle provided and pass through the decon-chamber sir, or you will be forced to.”

“Fuck you and make me, bird.”

“That can be arranged my sweet, but I don’t think you want to experience the full spa package C-Sec has to offer _just_ yet. Put your things in the box and we can all move on with our lives.”

Phalia read off his rights as the decon-chamber rattled him through, though her sentences were still punctuated with _fuck yous_ and  _fuck offs_ from Ty’gosh _._ “You have the right to discuss your legal situation with and have access to free legal advice. You have the right to medical aid, regular breaks for food and access to a clean toilet.”

“Suck my balls.”

Phalia’s jaw twitched. “Enough of that,” she told him. “You’re already being charged with contempt of C-Sec I see, no need to yell about it.”

“Yeah? Contempt my balls, then.”

“Should you not be blessed with Detective Krios’s excellent memory and forgot what I just told you, a written notice of this information explaining your rights is waiting for in your cell. A translator is available if you have troubles reading, should you require the service.”

Flashing green lights on the floor prompted Ty’gosh to move forward towards the body scanner. He didn’t. “Come on man,” said Bats. “Don’t, you know this won’t end well.”

I saw a flash of the scared kid he was he stared at us. I was him, once. Same age, glaring at C-Sec with all the fake defiance I could muster-

_-put your things in the box and move on,’ he said. ‘You got high powered friends that are for some reason keeping you out of process, but you still have to go through the decon chamber, so move-_

What was I meant to do? Sit opposite him in the interview room and say _hey kid, don’t do crime_? Someone tried with me- it didn’t work. That I was here on the opposite side of the barrier was because-

Was because-

Fuck, sometimes I don’t even know. The story always changes for me, even if the memories stay the same.  _Tu’we_ , my Father would say. Agree to disagree, even if you remember things differently. Bailey told me I could make it in C-Sec, that I had a way of seeing the universe that would help me climb the ranks.

_-what are you going to do about it, kid?’ he said, leaning over the table. ‘We can sit here all day and you can blame your father and the universe for your problems, but as far as I can see you have a choice, more than you think-_

I took the guidance reluctantly, but I _still_ took it. Could I say the same about Ty’gosh? What could I offer a petty, scared kid caught with enough drugs to take a very adult punishment?

A headache had formed and I rubbed my nose. “Do you need legal aid?” I said. “I’ll make sure you get it.”

A chirrup from T’lori’s omni-tool broke my concentration, and the sound repeated itself on mine. We were being called back upstairs for an incident room meeting, on Hoorik’s insistence. “Duty calls?” asked Phalia, amused.

“Don’t it always?” replied Bats.

We were almost at the security checkpoint ready to leave, but Phalia had other ideas. “Put me down for something male, handsome, and young,” she said, before opening the door.

Bats screwed his face up. “Say what now?”

“The wager you Murder Squad guys have on Detective Krios’s love life, Patel says there’s one. I think you prefer the fellas,” she said to me. “Am I right?”

All I could was open and shut my mouth, to T’Lori’s absolute delight. “This is great,” he said. “Look at this face, sarge- you’re onto something.” Bats grabbed my chin and shook, and I flinched away before he could touch me again.

“Stop that.”

“Not sure on race, though,” said Phalia, still droning on. “Turian, maybe. Oh, like that new guy on your team, now there’s a handsome man. Feel free to send him down to decorate the place, I don’t mind.” Phalia pretended to fan herself with a datapad, amused.

The sound of T’Lori’s cackling reached my ears as we left the custody cells. “Phalia knows?” I asked. “It’s outside the incident room now, thanks.”

“But think of the money,” he replied. “Those Widows and Orphans are gonna do so well out of you.”

The sooner we close the Deconnick case, the sooner this nonsense would stop. “Doubly so, when you fail.”

A vid-call of CSI Siks hovered in the middle of the incident room when we got there, and Hoorik glared at us to keep quiet. “So, the dust?” she asked him. “Krios thought it was red sand.”

The holo flickered before he replied. “He was right, but very weak. Mixed with a silica to pad it out, common enough blend for the Rookeries. A cursory scan shows it’s in his lungs, managed to inhale some.”

“And cause of death?” she asked. “Drugs?”

“This time wrong,” he said, blinking at us. “At a glance, I can see enough for a guess of myocardial infarction. Only a guess, obviously. I need to open him up to check, the scans only do so much.”

Our work was homicide, we all knew what the words meant; Deconnick had died of a heart attack. “Time of death?” I asked.

“That I can tell you. Longer than you thought, detective- remember the heating is off, it was colder than most chiller units in that shack. But he died approximately 13 hours ago. And he died there- his body shows no signs of being moved.”

Hoorik frowned. “Gary Deconnick died in the slums he owned.”

“Not like he lived there,” said Vitacus. “Tax records have him listed in the Upper Wards, a nice apartment complex with its own tennis court- whatever that is.”

“Death by angry tenants?” asked CSI Siks. “I suppose that’s your job to know. I’ll have this done in six hours, expect my report tonight. Siks out.”

“Now that we’re all here,” she said. “I’ll go over the Deconnick case. He’s an ex-Alliance Marine corporal, seven years of completed service. Owned several properties in the Lower Wards under a company called Besa Limited, if you can call the Rookeries a property.”

“Did he own the business by himself?” asked Patel.

“Not outright. Gherlak Socmahal is registered as a shareholder, though he only owned 20%.”

“I recognise that name,” said Patel, frowning. “Why?” 

The all looked at me and Hoorik smiled her small little smile, like I was their personal fucking database system; I  _always_  remembered every low-life we dealt with. “Owns  _Goronak’s_ near the Walkways.”

“Our victim was dodgy for sure.” Bats eyes went cold, and I could see his fists bunch. So far Gherlak Socmahal has kept himself low enough to avoid C-Sec noticing his activities, but we all knew he was connected to the gangs and the smuggling in the Lower Wards, and had a very expensive lawyer who saved him from a slavery charge two years ago.

“We don’t know that yet,” Hoorik replied, eyes sharp. “Another point of interest; this is Deconnick’s ex bond-mate from two years ago,” she added, bringing up the images of Deconnick and his ex asari wife enjoying a very expensive, very unnecessary show of wealth in a series of holos to scroll through. Hotels, expensive restaurants, a gaudy display of designer clothes, huge vid-screens- all of it just to tell the universe what they owned. 

Vitacus shifted his hands behind his back, faceplates pinching into a frown. “They liked to spend money.”

“How the other half lives,” said Patel. “Could be our mysterious asari from the witness statement.”

“We’ll see,” I said. “We just got here, not processed the camera yet.”

Hoorik focused her sharp eyes on me. “Get on that soon, please. Deconnick _also_ had a human ex-wife who lives on Demeter, but their son is in the Mid Wards of Kithoi, and needs a visit to be told his father is dead.”

“Where there’s an ex there’s a why,” said Bats, sipping his water still. “And he has two.”

“Deconnick was in the middle of a custody battle with Jannure, I haven’t had time to read all the court notes, but it does seem they favoured _him_ for full custody. The mother only had one day a week under supervision.”

Bats snorted into his drink. “She really fucked up.” He had a point. Even on the Citadel vourts favoured the asari mothers over their fathers for custody, for obvious biological reasons.

“The mother has a history of drug use,” said Hoorik, bluntly. “And a good lawyer can argue anything. Deconnick could afford a divorce specialist, Jannure could not- she was only a waitress.”

All of us watched Hoorik pull up a more recent  _Citadel Connections_  profile page of Mira Jannure. “I never understand the need to show your entire life to the Extranet,” I said, frowning at a picture of her holding her daughter.

Hoorik, tapping a finger on her chin, eyes on the scrolling images still. “People only show their best on these things, not their worse. And besides, it’s good for us. How many have we processed because of evidence like this lying around? They think we can’t see.”

“Those shoes are expensive,” I said, after another inane holo of Jannure’s gaudy wealth, swiftly followed by her wearing them. “The purple soled ones.” I grabbed the image from the screen then zoomed in. “How can a part-time waitress afford these? She makes, what- fifteen thousand a year?”

“Could be fakes, I know girls who wear ‘em,” replied T’Lori. “I know where to get you a pair, too.” There was always an edge to Bats, like he had a constant foot stuck in a dive bar. Of course he would know where to buy counterfeits, and would probably find you a pair in your size if you asked him. 

Hoorik smiled, amused at the casual mention. “And I’m sure you’ll pass that information on to the Network Division,” she said. “Fraud is a crime.”

I still disagreed with T’lori, a daily occurrence in my life. “The holo-seal on the sole looks authentic,” I said to him. “She brought these, or they were stolen. Easy enough to find out, there are only a few stores that sell them on the Citadel.” It fucking felt like Oriana had dragged me into all of them, too.

_-a pale leg pivoted on a heel, and I watched her walk away, purple soles clacking. I looked up her long legs, shining skin deliciously bare, and-_

There was a silence as they looked at me, lost in the memory. I never spoke it out loud, but  the mention of shoes was enough for them to suspect something. “See? I told you all. He has a woman,” said Hoorik, pleased.

“Sergeant Phalia thinks it’s a dude,” said Bats. “A hot turian. Watch out, Vitacus- she has her eye on you.”

Vitacus winked at me and I scowled. “Flattered, truly. But I need dinner and a vid first.”

“Though that coat is quite fetching, you still strike me as fashion illiterate, Krios,” said Hoorik, amused. “Only a woman would know the true cost of these shoes.”

“That’s sexist,” said Patel. “I know about them, they come in my size too. I look quite fetching, purple’s my colour.”

“Firstly no one is surprised you wear heels,” Bats replied. “And second, you only know  ‘cause you have a wife and a daughter. You post them on the Extranet just as much as our suspect does with this shit.”

Patel shrugged, smiling. “Happy wife, happy life.”

“Also, your daughter?” Bats let out a low whistle. “ _Goddess_ , Patel. Quite how your genes produced that is a fucking mystery. I ain’t usually the hairy type, but she’s stunning.”

“You keep away from my Devi,” said Patel, brows low on his forehead. “She’s a good girl.”

“Moving on,” said Hoorik, glaring at Bats. “I do agree with Krios- this recent show of wealth is beyond Jannure’s budget. Krios, since this case rests on closing your wager, I trust you are keen to interview Jannure? Before our little bet becomes precinct-wide.”

 _Fucking wager_. “It already is,” I replied. “Phalia knows.” Mentioning anything to the Custody Sergeant was a guarantee of news spreading- Phalia was the local gossip, and all officers no matter the rank went through lock up every shift.

“Take Vitacus with you,” she said, nodding to us both. “You’ve yet to be paired. Have the ballistics from the T’onneri case actually been processed?”

Vitacus spoke. “Yes. Detective Nato is on the way to arrest Renius Varo now. He said he’d talk to you later.”

“Excellent. Patel, how goes the Mawe case?”

“I’m joining up with Detective Gaer from the Network Division in an hour,” he replied, after clearing his throat. “Too much fiddling of the books for my liking, credits have gone missing somewhere. Both partners of the firm are banned from travel, and sectioned to the Ward.”

An alarm sounded over Hoorik before she could reply. Another homicide in the area was being called in, and our omni-tools buzzed at the same time; there was always violent crime in Zakera.

“That leaves us free, Detective T’Lori,” said Hoorik. “Control has a suspected gang shooting in Tusceli Apartments,” Hoorik said, reading the message. “Not the Rookeries this time, lucky us. Let’s go, Special Response have cleared the way. All of you, jog on. We reconvene in three.”

“Looks like you get your gang shooting after all,” I said to Bats. “Bring me my tea later.”

“Says you,” he replied, rolling his eyes. “Later Krios.”

Vitacus looked at me and smiled. “You lead,” he said.

“Could use the walk, no skycar this time.” The turian was tall even for his kind, and I had to look up to speak.  “I want to interview Jannure first.”

C-Sec had their own elevators, and using them out of uniform was strictly punished. Patel followed on our heels, a datapad in his hands. “Room for one more?” he asked and keyed in his authority code to open the door.

We waited in silence as we moved up the levels, and I stared at the ceiling as we shuddered to a stop at a service point no one used. Vitacus leaned against the wall, right below a sign warning us all that public urination was a crime. “We going anywhere?” he asked. “Seems slow.”

The lights flickered on and off briefly. “Gods damn it,” I said. We all knew what would happen next.

 _“Vvzristtps?”_ came the muffled answer through the speakers, before the automated VI spoke. _“I am sorry to announce that your journey will be delayed due to an emergency on this level. Mandatory power rerout-”_

“Code purple,” was said by a frantic turian voice, overriding the message before it could finish. “Over.”

“Sounds bad,” said Patel, jamming his little finger in a sagging ear. “Not in a rush, are you boys? Because Special Response is.”

Our elevator carriage was a low priority over a medical emergency, even if we were still C-Sec. Power was rerouted to another service shaft, one that needed to get to the top faster.

Eezo cutbacks affected everything. Though Detective Vitacus was new to Zakera, he understood Citadel varren shit as much as any working officer.  “You all good?” he asked, looking over us after a resigned shrug.

I could see he was concerned. I don’t blame him, we were stuck with Patel after all. “I’m fine,” I replied.

“I’m all moonbeams and starlight,” said Patel. “Thank you for asking.”

I scrolled through my omni-tool. We still had access to the network, and I could at least research into Deconnick while we waited. For an ex-Corporal, he sure had a lot of money. “Renting out slums earns the credits,” I said. “Our victim’s bank accounts are pretty hefty, and those are the official ones we know about.”

“There’s always more.” Vitacus glanced my way again; I could see him look me over, unsure what to say. “You look agitated if you don’t mind me saying,” he said. “Take a break if you need to, I find steady breathing helps.”

“Krios always looks like that,” said Patel, amused by the concern. “He has resting stressed face, don’t worry about it.”

“I’m fine.” I had no problems with heights, darkness or narrow places. Water was a different beast, however. Not much of that on the Citadel, unless you count the lidos and pools Oriana obsessed over. But they weren’t a raging sea-

_-my fists slam into his legs, and he pulls them away to stop the blows. ‘Get her back. Bring her back, Father. Mami doesn’t like the ocean, bring her-_

“You get used to the elevators anyway,” said Patel, hands on his hips. “Though we have less of these power reroutes now since we’re back with the Widow. We’re still moving at least, just very slowly- much like me, oh yes.   _Ha ha_.”

No one else laughed. Vitacus took my silence as a cue and scrolled through his own omni-tool, and I could see him opening up all the data-banks we had on Deconnick’s bondmate.

I nodded in approval.  _Good_ rookie. “Huh,” he said, narrowing his eyes at text too small for me to read; turians always set it lower than most.

“You find something?” I looked up from reading into Sam Vicens, Deconnick’s son. So far so boring.

“Jannure had court-mandated addiction and recovery therapy,” he answered. “Good attendance, though. The course finished last week, she seems to be on the right track.”

“She’s clean, then?” I asked. “We’ll still get to her first.”

We knew they were fighting for custody over their child already. We also knew that Deconnick was found with drugs in his system- red sand which while did nothing to asari, was still a shaky connection we had to check.

But something about Sam Vicens made me suspicious. He worked as an accountant for a clothing chain, a single man living in the Mid-Wards of Kithoi. Steady job, no priors, clean licence, average education. Paid his rent on time, was even a member of a mixed species clawball team. A different life from his father, lightyears away from a landlord of Lower Ward slums.

It was too boring, like someone had taken all the averages of what made a human male in his twenties and shoved it in Mr. Vicens. No one was this blank, there was always something.

_-the trick to blending in is uneventful,’ Father said, frowning. ‘A good assassin is never noticed, even though our kind is rare. Do not stand out. Be remembered for nothing-_

The elevator still moved slowly as we worked in silence, and within the enclosed space the only noise was a constant scratching I could no longer ignore. “That’s a relief,” said Patel. “Let me tell you.”

“ _Patel_.” Vitacus was about to discover why no one liked to be stuck working with Delective Patel.

He had the greaves of his hardsuit off and was clawing at the flaking skin of his leg. “You okay?” asked Vitacus, concerned by the manic scratching.

“Certainly not,” I said, moving away.

“I meant him, not you.”

“Oh, this?” Patel said, gesturing to his exposed leg. “Bit of a medical mystery, my ankle rash. No one knows what to do about it.”

I was stuck in a faulty metal box with fucking Patel for company. Gods thrice fuck it, _why_. “Keep your boots on, Arashu spare me.”

Patel ignored my words, hands on his ankle still. “No one knows the origin, I’ve baffled the medical staff. It’s gone down in redness but still itches like the devil. Want to see?”

“I’m good,” said Vitacus, shufflng over to join me on the furthest wall away from Patel. “All good.”

“Put your armour back on Patel. Gods damn.”

“You’re such an asshole, Krios. It’s not my fault I itch. I’d let you peel off your dead scales if you needed to, it’s only natural.”

Vitacus cleared his throat, and I was unsure if it was to cover up his disgust or a laugh. “You do not _care_ ,” I replied. “You keep stealing my chair, the one I bought with my own money.” It was admittedly the best seat of the incident room, but it was designed for a drell’s lumbar system, not a human’s.

A gloved finger was wagged in my face. It was the hand Patel used to scratch at his damn skin, and I grimaced at the thought of it almost touching me. “Caring’s sharing,” he said. “We’re one big happy family in the Murder Squad, Krios. Let an old man have a decent sit down from time to time.”

“You’re barely middle aged. And I’ve got one fucked up family of my own.” Not exactly the truth, but Patel didn’t need to know my life story, nor would I share it with him.

“This is the thanks I get? I protect you from Bats. You can’t ask for better back up than me.”

We were a captive audience with no escape, and I stared at the ceiling. “I believe I can. Thrice fuck this, why are these fucking things so slow?” I pushed the buttons again. A futile effort considering the power reroute, but still.

This time Vitacus spoke up. “You say that a lot, I’ve noticed,” he said, changing the subject. “Does fornication come in threes for you guys? I’m curious.”

“Newbie, I’m impressed.” Patel clapped Vitacus on the shoulder, and thanks to the solid wall of turian he came up against was hurt in the process. “You do have a sense of humour. I thought you were going to be too hurray Hierarchy.”

“Still on the newbie thing, huh?” he said, pretending to be annoyed. “Come on, you can say it. _Vit-a-cus_.”

“It’ll come to me soon,” Patel said, smiling back.

New detectives had to earn their name, according to Patel. The smart ones worked his ruse out early and tried to get on his good side, but the smarter ones like Vitacus sassed back. “Only so many ways I can spell it out for you,” he said. “Not my fault you can’t read.”

The insult was ignored, laser-focused as Patel was on chafing my scales. “See? Newbie here understands the flow of conversation, Krios- you do not. It’s an art, my friend. A gentle winding river to sail down, buoyed by our own sparring wits.”

“I hate water,” I replied, grinding my teeth. “Shove your sparring wit up your ass.”

The ride was blissfully silent after that, and for a moment I almost forgot I was stuck here still. “Who’s doing the fucking, then?” Patel asked. “When you swear.”

I made a noise of frustration so loud it echoed in the elevator. “Patel-”

“When you go all thrice fucking, I mean- I’ve often wondered who does what. And why does the goddess Tiramisu fuck you sideways anyway, is that normal for drell? Your cusswords are confusing.”

I stared at the ceiling again, before I did something stupid. “There is no god with that name in the drell pantheon.”

“Oh? I’m sure you say that. In fact, I’ve heard you say it-  _‘Hunter Tiramisu guide your aim,’”_ he said, in an attempt at my voice. “Or fuck you sideways, or whatever it is she’s meant to do.”

I knew exactly what he was doing, and dampening my anger before it stuck in my throat. “You misheard. I find humans have problems understanding even basic words-

_-saudade,’ Oriana said, putting her arm through mine as she rolled the word on her tongue again. ‘”The love that remains,” a feeling of longing and nostalgia. See? You’re not the only with supposedly ‘untranslatable’ words for memory-_

Vitacus chuckled. “You do swear a lot, Detective Krios. The sideways one is my favourite, I admit. Seems one hell of a way to go.”

Patel looked too smug. Someone had taken his side in an attempt to annoy me, and it was Gods damn working. “He really has a potty mouth, doesn’t he? So much cursing. My father would pour liquid soap in your mouth if he-”

_-that’s quite the creative language you have,’ Father said, ignoring his lunch. I glared in return. What gave him the Gods damn right to police my language? It wasn’t as if-_

“Humans are just as bad with it in my opinion, that Jesus guy of yours gets around a lot,” said Vitacus, interrupting the memory. They often came when I was tired or angry, and I was in danger of feeling both the longer I stayed in this fucking elevator.

“That’s just rude,” said Patel, smiling at me as I clenched my jaw. “Not all of us are on the Jesus Juice, you know. I’m vaguely Hindu. _Vaguely_.”

“No offence meant,” replied Vitacus, rubbing the back of his neck. “There’s not much fornication with the Spirits. Turians aren’t big on erotophobia.”

“Really? You’re missing out, newbie. Nothing like a higher power watching to get you going,” said Patel. “If you like that sort of thing.”

“I’ll pass.” Vitacus folded his arms and looked down at me. “But religion is a sensitive issue, you know? So C-Sec training said, anyway.”

“I’m agnostic,” I said, hissing the word. “You both done?”

“Again, no offence meant,” he replied. I scowled my answer. “Okay, _some_ offence meant, I’m sorry,” Vitacus said, letting the subject drop. “But your language is colourful. I don’t mind it, it’s fun.”

Patel remained oblivious to the apology. “Sounds messy, to be honest,” he said. “Fucking Tiramisu, I mean. Now that I think about it.”

“Do you even think of the words that fall out of your mouth,” I asked. “Is there a missing connection?”

He was still lost in his own world, deaf to my reaction. “My wife does a lovely non-alcoholic version,” he said. “I’ll bring some in if we get lucky with the dairy this week at the ration depot, you’d like it.”

Vitacus looked at me and I shrugged in reply, annoyed at them both. “I only understood a third of that. Is this a human thing or-?”

“It’s Patel,” I said, jaw tight with anger still. “Not even his own kind understand him.”

“Now look-” Patel started to say, interrupted by the static of the panel. We were saved from a comeback thanks to the elevator VI, finally announcing our level in a dull monotony. _“Floor 124. Please alight for Zakera Industrial District.”_

I left the Gods damned elevator so fast I bumped into the wall, embraced by the noise and neon of Zakera. “May the Goddess Daiquiri watch over you both,” Patel shouted through the slowly sliding doors. “See you later.”   



	3. Never Tired Of Living

ZAKERA INDUSTRIAL DISTRICT, DAY ONE  
_14:45 pm_

Zakera has changed over the years.

When I first arrived all I could afford was a corner of a Lower Ward flophouse. I hid out with the addicts and the lost drowning in their own misery, a scared seventeen year old too frightened to sleep.

_-the shiv is in my face, my pistol heavy in my jacket. ‘Did you touch my shit?’ Before I could reach for it his companion pulled him away, speech slurred. ‘Baby don’t yell, I got it all here-_

 The Reapers may have broken the Wards apart, but it was politics that shaped the cityscape. Zakera was the Ward that survived the most during the onslaught, and the Council in their infinite wisdom took advantage of the stability, even if we were ignored before.

Before all of this we was a working city of factories and industrial parks, a throbbing neon district that housed sex workers and decrepit VI stores alike. Zakera even became home to my people -fractured few that we were- when we left Kahje, a place we shared with the hanar, elcor, and volus.

No one wanted to live so close to the industries needed to keep the Citadel afloat, but _we_ had to. Zakera was where the miscellaneous went, the outsiders of the universe. But all of us were forced to adapt when the war ended, and suddenly our home was in demand- even if it was the Council’s toilet before.  

I knew this place like I knew the patterns of my hand. I never thought I was lost when I got here, even if my father did. Zakera was -and will always be- my home.

“It is good to walk,” I said to Vitacus, sighing in relief.

“Here’s me thinking becoming a detective would mean less of it,” he said. Vitacus slowed his gait to match mine, and the pair of us fell into an instinctual matching stride, a beat cop’s pace of the neighbourhood. “Nice to see the place, though. Zakera is something.”

“Wouldn’t be anywhere else." Everywhere has a place that feels this way, a feeling understood in all languages: if you’re tired of here, you’re tired of living.

_-red burned my retinas as the Citadel came apart with a shudder, the stench of the dead so strong I could taste it. My fins slammed the wall behind me as my vision went dark, pain-_

I shook the memory away, staring across the skycar lanes at the closed-off shelters. “Is this your _alleged_ resting stressed face again, or is this something else?” asked Vitacus, waiting for me to walk again.

“No, Mother,” I replied. “If your next suggestion is along the lines that I should smile more, I can tell you exactly where to file it.”

“Message received,” he said, smiling his own down at me, then distracted himself with the scrolling neon ads across from us. “Ooh, a new  _T’sarli’s_ is opening up! Nice.”

“Really?” I asked, following his gaze. Holos were plastered over the shelters there, the standard safety rooms bunkered in when the Citadel moved. Mine was closer to my old precinct, used for cable storage by the Network Division until the Apocalypse turned up again.

“I love those iced drinks they do,” said Vitacus, hands behind his back. “The huge ones. You tried the levo versions? I usually get a couple for stakeouts, you get something to piss in after.”

“Not in my skycar you don’t.” At my grimace, he laughed, and I flicked my jacket into shape.

The crowd parted like a shoal when we entered another street, even though we were only walking. A C-Sec uniform always gave you a larger personal space bubble than most, to the point of hilarity; I watched a turian woman sidestep away without realising what she was doing.

Vitacus nodded at her politely as we ambled past. “When you gotta go, you gotta go- it’s not like the criminals will give me us a moment to go find a clean bathroom.”

We were interrupted by a call on my ‘tool from DI Hoorik before I was given another piss-related anecdote. I nodded to him to go off into a quieter side street before I answered. “Ma’am?”

Sirens sang out in the background of the call, and Hoorik shouted over them to be heard. “The Alliance has a block on Deconnick’s files,” she said. “That means he did something we’re not allowed to see. Have you read the custody battle? Interview the lawyers if you can, and look into that business partner of his, I have a hunch.”

We both snapped our spines straight. Hoorik’s voice might’ve been professionally cheerful, but there was an undercurrent of anger not even comm interference could hide, a polite, nagging insistence we weren’t doing our jobs right.

Vitacus joined in on the call. “I’ve read most of it, ma’am. Jannure has finished her mandated addiction therapy, and was in the process of applying for full custody,” he answered quickly, like the good turian he was. “She was denied it again last year.”

“There was a delay in the elevator,” I added. “We’ve not met with Jannure yet,”

“Get on with it then.” My reply was an excuse, and Hoorik hated them. “Back soon, please. This is a mess.”

“At least she said _please_ ,” said Vitacus, nodding at me as the call closed. “That’s polite.”

His confusion was a common reaction when working for our DI, but he was new. "Hoorik has the ability to tell someone to sink to the depths of hell in such a way that they look forward to the journey,” I said. “She’s polite, but there’s always a line. Doesn’t socialise much with us lowly detectives after a shift is over, anyway. Bats has given up asking.”

Not that I socialised much either. Especially now, thanks to Ori; I wanted to spend my free time with her, not seeing if Bats and Patel can shove their fists into their mouths after too many post-work shots.

“Noted. Let’s get this right, it’s still my second day.” Vitacus shrugged, checking a map on his omni-tool of the housing complex we needed. “You want to lead?”

He was new and untested, of course I’d lead. “For now. Let’s go see how Jannure reacts to her ex-bondmate's death. ”

The apartment was located in one the new developments, a soulless building that sprung up with its ilk a year ago. I detested them; they were ugly and bland, all cheap plastic cladding and molded concrete.

Jannure answered the door for us barefoot, clad in a lurid blue dress. A crying baby was in the background, and I could hear another voice trying to soothe it- maybe asari, maybe human.

“What happened?” she said, taking in our uniforms. No one liked cops on their doorstep; Jannure refused to let us pass, standing in between the sliding doors.

“I’m Kolyat Krios, a detective from the Homicide and Serious Crime Investigation team,” I said, using our proper titles. It was the one we used for the general public; Murder Squad was a C-Sec nickname that stuck, no matter how much the PR department told us not to use it. “This is my colleague, Siso Vitacus.”

“Is it okay if we have half an hour of your time?” he asked. Vitacus stepped back politely so Jannure would not strain her neck looking at him, tall turian that he was.

Her green eyes were narrowed at me, and Jannure finally closed the door behind her.  “Do I need a lawyer?”

“I don’t think so,” I replied. “It concerns your ex-bond mate, Gary Deconnick.”

“Oh I need a lawyer,” she replied, going back inside her apartment.

“Going well,” said Vitacus, staring at the flashing green lock.

I rang the door after a count of ten under my breath, steeling myself for a stronger confrontation. “Ms. Jannure, a moment,” I said. At least she answered again, though this time an omni-tool lit up her hands. “I understand it is distressing to see us, but we are not here to arrest anyone.”

Her eyes were on screen, and we both could see the  _Please Hold: you are 12th in a queue_ message. “Tell me whatever you want here,” she said. “Because you’re not coming in.”

“Perhaps it would be best if we do,” I replied. “Is there anywhere we can sit and talk? It is important.”

You’d think two detectives from the homicide team would be enough to press upon the significance of us standing on her doorstep, but apparently we were still a nuisance.

“You are in no trouble,” said Vitacus.

 _Yet,_ I thought, and counted all the antique books I had in my apartment from memory to stay calm, neat and tidy on their shelf.

Jannure finally closed the call, annoyed at our refusal to move. “Fine. You got ten minutes. My time with my daughter is precious.”

Her apartment was dirty, I had seen cleaner slums. Plates and clothes and a general mess of everything piled and scattered itself across the apartment, a slapdash system of disorder. I stepped over several pairs of purple soled shoes dumped in the entry hall, next to a bag of untied kitchen waste- Mira Jannure treated her expensive, exclusive belongings like literal garbage.

The voice I heard earlier was a human, matching a meek-looking girl no older than twenty cradling her asari ward. Vitacus wiggled his mandibles at the baby as we passed them both, happily dribbling spit down a blue chin at the funny alien smiling at him.

“How do you wish us to call you?” I asked.

“Ms. Jannure is fine,” she said, then looked at the human. “They’re from C-Sec. This is Seria, my daughter. Oh, and this is Ana. Gary pays her to look after my child so _he_ doesn’t have to. There’s a team of nannies, don’t you know.”

Vitacus at least had the sense to read the custody agreements before we came; this was the supervision he spoke of from the court case on show. “Perhaps it is best we speak alone? If you don’t mind, Ms. Ana?”

Ana looked at the floor, hands worrying themselves in their sleeves. “I’m not an anything, just Ana,” she said. “And I’m not allowed to leave Seria alone with Mira- I mean, Ms. Jannure. It’s the rules.” She looked at Jannure now, meek and apologetic. “I’m sorry.”

The look the asari shot her back was pure venom.  _“I know.”_

To drell, children are raised by loved ones, precious things left in the care of those that cherish them. Traditionally, anyway. Paid childcare was still an odd concept for the old guard to grasp, even if it was needed in modern times.

“If you’re comfortable with her staying, she can stay,” I said, holding out my hands to them both. At Jannure’s dismissive wave, I continued. “Gary -is it okay if I call him this?” I asked, and they both nodded. “I am sorry to tell you, but Gary was murdered this morning. His body was found in the Lower Wards, in a property he owns. The Rookeries, if you’re familiar with the term.”

I stopped myself before I carried on, letting the information sink in. Ana put a hand to her mouth in shock. Seria was oblivious, more concerned with waving at Vitacus than what was happening. “Take a moment,” he said, holding out a gloved talon for Seria to grasp.

My eyes never left Jannure’s when I told her the news. She was upset, yes. But she also looked anxious- I would, in her position.  “There is a special service C-Sec offers for grief counselling, even though Gary was your ex. Should you-”

“No,” Jannure said, interrupting me.  “I don’t want it.” I could see Vitacus handing a tissue to Ana out of nowhere, packed from his armour. At least someone mourned the death of Gary Deconnick, no one else was.

“There will be a Family Liaison Officer seeing you shortly, they’re a direct link to us on the Investigation team. You can ask them anything you want.”

Her jaw was tight with something, arms folded up on themselves. Jannure refused to cry, but I could see she was close to it. “We can do it with a lawyer present,” she said. “When I can get hold of her.”

I shrugged. Asking for legal representation was not a guaranteed sign of guilt, but common sense. Citadel law was confusing, indecipherable to most. “That is fine. We can organise it for here, if you’re more comfortable.”

A loud alarm from Ana’s omni-tool beeped, and Jannure grumbled. “That means she’s taking my daughter from me,” she said. “My time is up.”

Ana flinched but passed over Seria for Jannure to say goodbye. Vitacus and me were witness to a scene of intimacy no one wanted us to see, but I refused to look away.

“I’m sorry,” Ana said over Seria’s blue head. “It’s the rules.”

“This a good point for us to pause,” I replied, watching a distraught Jannure hold her daughter. She was more upset over this than she was Deconnick’s murder; Gary was divorced for a reason. “We will be in contact again, at your convenience. Is tomorrow afternoon at the same time okay?”

Jannure shrugged, kissing her daughter’s cheek. “With a lawyer.”

We followed Ana out, helping her carry the endless baggage children usually came with. As she struggled with Seria, I saw an old slave mark on her arm, though it was blurred with a bad patch job.

Even in Citadel space you were never a click away from slavery. It was never just sex work, like most assumed. Construction workers, nannies, cleaners, beauticians… all kept and sold into their roles, branded like cattle with barcodes.

“I’m sorry,” she said. It was the third sorry uttered in our presence. “I don’t mean to burden you with carrying my things.”

_-once you’ve seen one you know,’ Bats said, shrugging. ‘Batarians don’t fuck around, those marks are hard to remove. They use this ink that just changes shit, man. You need gene therapy to-_

“It is no trouble,” I told her, awkwardly holding a diaper bag. “Do you need help getting back to your home?”

“Could you call me a shuttlecar?” she said. “Gary says I can take them when I want instead of the tram, but-” she realised what she had said, and stopped. “Oh. I should get back and tell everyone. What happens now? Who’s going to look after Seria? I mean, I live at Gary’s, but... what do I do?”

We were an authority to her because of the uniform, but not an authority on everything. It was a good point well made, and I looked at Vitacus. “It’s best that Seria stays with you this afternoon,” he said, “if you don’t mind. Someone will be over -it might not be Detective Krios or me, but someone will be over to explain.”

“We need to look into that custody notes again,” I said, once we watched the taxi shuttle itself slowly towards the Upper Wards.

“No need. That kid is gonna end up in a home,” Vitacus replied, quiet now. “Unless Deconnick’s family take her in, or Jannure contests it, somehow.”

“Got a feeling she will.” I sighed heavily, but our death duty wasn’t over yet. “We have one more person to tell,” I said. “This time you can lead.”

There was an hour’s wait before we were cleared to transfer to Kithoi, the ward where Gary Deconnick’s suspiciously bland son lived. Special Response had a shuttle service dedicated for C-Sec workers, but there was always an order of emergency at who could use it. A death notice was a yellow alert- not quite purple, not quite red.

It was a natural pause for lunch, and Vitacus seemed to have the same idea. “I really want a T’sarli’s,” he said. “‘I’ll have my break now, I think. You want to join?”

Detectives worked more hours than most, and we ate when we could. “Seems sensible,” I told him.

“You gotta try the drinks, they’re great. I think we passed one on the way.”

His enthusiasm was amusing, but home was nearby. I lived in the Industrial District too, and my apartment complex was a ten-minute jog from here. “I’ll pass,” I said. “Thank you for the offer, but it’s a working lunch for me.”

“Alright.” He rubbed the back of his head and smiled. Vitacus shaped up well enough for a rookie, but there was still time for him to fuck it up. “I’ll meet you by the LZ after, then.”

C-Sec officers were guarded about going home during a work day, and rightly so. There was no way by the Depths I would want my neighbours to see me in my uniform, or the clerks at my local rations depot. I always changed in the disgusting locker rooms of the precinct’s gym at the beginning and end of my shift, but I was too close to ignore the homely lure of my apartment.

I jogged past a newly opened flower shop, run by a drell of all people, annoyed that my neighbourhood apparently needed one. I thought he was more a mortician than a vendor, shoving dying plants into water and cryo-gels to keep; I never understood the appeal of the practise.

There weren’t many of us on the Wards, though. He nodded at me as I went past, even if I scowled at his storefront. It was something you did as a minority, that nod. A familiar face in a sea of aliens, even if you were strangers.

Most Citadel drell knew I existed and I that worked for C-Sec, but I was doing my hardest to stick to the shadows. I was not my father, but I could at least trail a suspect and not be seen. That he had still seen me was curious, and I made a note to see if CSES had anything on him.

I took a hard left into an old Keeper tunnel a restaurant used to store their garbage, zipping my jacket as far as it could go to hide the bulk of the C-Sec logo. My building was at the very end, and I lurked by the plastic plants of the side entrance to let a turian resident pass me by unnoticed before I moved.

Even if he saw me, we’ve never exchanged one word as long as I’ve liced here. One of the glorious things about moving to the Citadel was people not knowing who I am; Enkindler’s Basket was a small dome where everyone knew everyone. Here I was either C-Sec, the drell, or the stranger- never just Kolyat.

They were oblivious to my lurking, at least Father taught me something. I took the emergency stairs to my floor in a rush, taking two steps at a time. No one used the stairs, not even the cleaning staff. I even knew about the access panels and ladders of the vents in the elevator shaft too, just in case.

My apartment was given to me by him. _Father_. The only inheritance I accepted from him, my solace and my sanctuary from the bright lights of the Wards. Every possession I had was in the right place and where I wanted it to be; this was still my home, despite his gift.

I lived alone, though Oriana was beginning to make a claim on my space. I was always finding trails of her around the place after her stays: those endless fucking metal pins for her hair that confused the cleaning VI; an abandoned shirt; her underwear; a datapad; lipstick stains left on a cup.

She shed herself worse than the cat, and neither of them seemed to care about the marks they left behind.

_-Ori placed the tea by my bed as I woke, another in her hands. I rubbed my eyes awake, too bleary to thank her at 6am. ‘Going for a swim,’ she said. ‘Have a good day, and-_

I knew how frequently my memories of her came without thought now, unsure what to do about it. It was a relief when we first met, of course. Here was a person like me, struck trailing the star of Shepard. The pair of us were loose satellites drawn in orbit, whether we wanted to be or not.  

And it was so easy to talk to Oriana about that part of me. _Did you know I tried to kill a man? Did you know my father was a hired murderer? Did you know my mami died to batarian slavers? Did you know my father won a sniping competition on the SR-2?_

They were things I kept in silence that I could now speak out loud. Stories of the war, stories of Kahje, stories of my mother- all of it fell from my lips unbidden, because she was listening.

_-I don’t quite want this to end,’ she said. I leaned against the open door of the skycar, in two minds to join her, eyes on the shine of her collarbone. ‘I’m sure it would be a perfect memory for you if I left, but why don’t we take a chance and-_

We knew we were an odd pair, but there was also a familiarity neither of us could fully express. Oriana was a quiet piece of a puzzle placed somewhere, a chance to share the burden of memories with someone- even if she was different to me.

At least Ori liked it when I came home to see her. “Don’t get up,” I told the cat. Fish flicked her tail once, then went back to staring at the skycars zip by the window. I had interrupted her day, obviously. It’s not like I lived here or anything.

I knew she would show interest when I opened the chiller unit and stop her pretence of ignoring me. The veterinary doctor I paid under the table told me that cats were worshipped three thousand years ago by humans, and judging by the fucking tithe I paid for her medical, food, and VI programs I wondered if my new-found religion was worth it.

We both stared at the empty shelves, annoyed. Today was the day I would pick up my rations at the depot and share the best of them with Oriana after work. All that stared back was half a packet of asari  _mesa_ , the remains of last night’s stir fry, and endless jars of pickles.

I peeled off my gloves and offered Fish a cold noodle. Curiously drell venom did nothing to cats, one of the few alien pets I could own. There was a near exhausting list of dangerous things Fish could ingest, ranging from Earth lilies to Surkesian grasshoppers, but the venom on my skin was milder than dirt.

Fish scowled at me and went to her water dish, annoyed at my offering. “No supplication today,” I told her. “Only kibble.” That fucking cat had more spent on specialist food than my own paltry ration budget put together.

The cooker hummed as I ate a mesa fruit over the counter, waiting for my leftovers to heat up. Oriana had stayed the night and left before I did this morning, a routine we had when my day shift aligned with hers. We both had stayed on the couch Fish now cleaned herself on before falling asleep, a lazy intimacy I never knew I missed until it was gone.

_-I stepped over a pair purple soled shoes dumped in the entry hall, next to a bag of untied kitchen waste. Mira Jannure treated her belongings like literal garbage, a fussing baby in-_

Jannure’s home was filthy, but amongst all the grime she had pockets of wealth on show. I could call Oriana and ask how a waitress could afford expensive shoes; I could also contact the Network Division of course, but Ori was far prettier to talk to than Detective Gaer.

“Lucky to catch me,” she said, answering as soon as I rang. “Meeting soon about the trip, just ticking boxes before we head out.” She smiled and I smiled back, fool that I was. “Home for lunch, I see.”

I could see the other Wards behind her in her big glass office, bright sparks of light on the horizon. “Just the leftovers,” I said. “Good swim, or did you drown?”

“Of course not. Had the lane to myself for once,” she said, then looked around me. “Are you eating over the sink again?”

“No,” I lied. “Just cleaning up.” I cleared my throat and focused on the pearls in her ears. “I called for a reason, I promise. It’s about shoes. The purple soled ones you have. It’s not important, just-” I rubbed my brow, annoyed at my choice of words. “It’s for work.”

Oriana opened her mouth once then closed it. “I often wonder if you have a high heel fetish,” she said, but then I could see her eyes twinkle with something.  “I’m a size 41, and I prefer real leather to synthetics. You can get me the 10cm ones if you want me to keep them on, but don’t expect me to walk anywhere if I do.”

To my annoyance, I felt my frill heat. “It’s for a case,” I blurted out. “Not,  _ah,_ that. If you wouldn’t mind answering a few questions about them?”

Her reaction was to laugh at my discomfort, her turn to clear her throat after. “Right, yes of course. What do you want to know,  _Detective?”_

I cropped Jannure out of the photo and sent the image of the shoes over to her. I could see Ori look away to examine it, still amused. “I’m not really an expert in fashion, but flattered all the same.”

“Your heaving wardrobe says otherwise.”

“It’s all for work,” she replied, her turn to lie. “Not all of us can turn up to a fundraiser in their uniform. Clothes-”

“-maketh the man, I know. Or woman in your case. And if I were turning up in my uniform, it would be to arrest someone.”

“C-Sec ball,” she half-sang, smiling again. “Can’t wait to see you in your dress blacks. I bet you look handsome.”

“More like uncomfortable. The collar chafes.” Only Oriana and my mother have ever told me I was attractive. I put down my girlfriend’s blindness to an interspecies filter glossing over her eyesight, since by a drell’s standard I am by no means ‘handsome.’ Everyone has an opinion on my chin, even from species who don’t fucking own one.

“Hmm,” she said, closing the images with a finger swipe. “Looks legitimate to me. You know these shoes have a registration number- so you know who made them and who they belong to. You’re even meant to have them fitted by a fabricator in store, I did. They’re limited edition, you see. Not many are made.”

“Good to know,” I replied. It was something I could’ve found out with an Extranet search, but it was nicer to talk to her. “Could a waitress afford them, you think? She had several on show at her home.”

“Depends on where she works, but even I don’t have that many. I buy a pair a year,” she said. Another lie, but I let it slide.

I heard a muffled voice off-camera, and Ori’s face fell back into the professional mask she wore for work in a scale snap. “I’ll be there soon, give me a moment,” she said, then looked at me and breathed out. “As illuminating as this conversation has been about your fetish, I have to go back to work- Kellam’s is cracking the whip.”

I reached for my gloves and put them back on, ignoring her teasing. “Same here.”

Despite her previous urgency, the vidcall was still open. “Do you like that too, by the way? Should I practise my whipping hand? Have you been  _naughty,_ Kolyat Krios?”

“I only asked for work,” I said, a whine in my throat. “It’s to help with a homicide investigation.”

“Oh, of course.” She moved closer to the camera from her omni-tool, face full on the screen. “Size 41, real leather, 10 cm. I’m partial to the Halthaus ones that wrap up the leg they have in this season. See you later.”

If she thought I was buying her a pair of shoes that cost me a week’s wage -even as a joke- she had another thing coming. “You’ll be lucky,” I said, but too late. Oriana had closed the call.

Fish sat up from her grooming to watch me leave, ears flicking forward and back. “Be good,” I told her, risking a pet. I was given a warning rumble, but sometimes she would bite for no reason. “No wild parties, you’re on your own until tomorrow.”

I picked her fur off my gloves and left her to it. Fish was my one abuse of power so far as a cop, and I’ve never felt guilty about wielding it. Technically cats are vermin on the Citadel, and quarantine for animals was a long and expensive process.

I couldn’t leave her to die on Earth. I found her under rubble during a clean-up shift for humanity, one of those acts of good will the Council insisted on while we still were in pieces in the Sol system.

That cat was the only thing I found alive in the city I was sent to, lost and alone from everything. I couldn’t leave her to die in a wasteland and shoved her in my jacket for the shuttle ride home, both of us too tired to fight it.

_-tiny needles stabbed my frill as I tried to shove the striped puffball back into a pocket. Officer Minarian creased his browplates, curious. ‘Don’t they eat those on Earth? You’re probably taking away a meal-_

I had to bribe the customs officer with Cipritine brandy and a week’s worth of dextro-rations to look the other way. Her customs paper said she was a Khar'shan snapping eel, but Ori always said it should have been a catfish for the irony.

The run to the LZ was shorter that I thought, the carrier Vitacus was in already loaded with Special Response. The took one look at our ID and ignored us with a polite nod- Murder Squad had a reputation for weird in C-Sec. We might solve the crime that gets the press, but to some species dealing with death every day was morbid.

It took thirty minutes to get to Kithoi Wards, and a further twenty to be taxied to Sam Vicen’s place of work. Though this was not our beat, we were still allowed to operate here; C-Sec rule stretched over all the Wards.

We found him in a dull office building where he worked alone, suspicious of our presence. “What’s he done now?” he said, looking at our uniform. “I’m not bailing him out anymore. He can rot in your cells for all I care.”

I cleared my throat, and Vitacus took the hint. “I’m Siso Vitacus, this is my colleague Kolyat Krios,” he said. “May I call you Sam?”

He shrugged, nonplussed. “Sure.”

Once we were all seated, he continued. “We’re from the Homicide Investigation team.” Vitacus soothed his voice, gentle and calm now. “Sam I’m very sorry we’re meeting like this, but I’m here to tell you that your father has been murdered.”

It was pitch perfect in tone, pathos, and meaning, a textbook example of death notification duty in action. Vicens blinked and looked away, snorting once. “Okay,” he said.

Vitacus cleared his throat, hiding his confused reaction in an eyeblink. “Your father is dead,” he said, repeating himself. You always had to when you delivered a death notice.

“I heard you the first time.”

Vitacus leaned forward and made his bulky turian frame as small as he could. “I can assure you that we will do everything in our power to discover what happened to your dad, and _will_ convict the person responsible for this. I’m sorry that you’re going through it all.”

“Take your time,” I said, watching for a reaction. So far he was angry.  I _understood_ anger.

Sam fiddled with a datapad, unsure what to do with his hands. “Dad was-” he sat leaned back into his chair, his hands over his face. Neither of us knew if he was crying or laughing from the noise, and Vitacus pulled out another tissue from his armour, another leaking human in need of comfort. “I wasn’t expecting this,” he said, turning away from us. “I thought- I thought-”

“No rush,” I said.

“The bastard was never there!” he shouted. “He left me and mom. He just left us. She raised me. And she never said a bad word about him, even though he was a piece of shit who hurt her and gave us nothing.”

He was crying now. “Is there anything we can do?” asked Vitacus.

“What, bring my father back and make him care? Can you do that?” As Vitacus passed him another tissue, he pushed it away. “I won’t let the bastard win, not at this,” he replied. “He doesn’t fucking deserve it.”

They were curious words to use, but grief was a strange emotion. “Did you speak to him often?” I asked, and Vitacus looked at me. Technically I wasn’t meant to ask questions, only deliver a notice of his father’s death. “You live on another Ward, we assumed you had contact with each other.”

“If the trams are running obviously,” said Vitacus, looking at me again. “Who knows what they’re doing, hey? Rapid transport schedule is one of the universe’s mysteries. Krios is a Zakera boy, he doesn’t get how bad the lines are here.”

Sam scrubbed at his face with his hands before taking back the tissue, white eyes lined in red. “Dad, we- it was complicated. In the end, I gave up trying a few years ago. The parent I needed wasn’t him, mom was enough. I won’t take his name, I’m not a Deconnick.”

_-I’m still a Krios,’ I said. I looked him in the eye-_

Distant fathers who left was a recurring theme in my life, for obvious reasons. I was never the lone star in the sky for it either, not since I started C-Sec. It was a strange relief in a way. Some of the lives I came across were as fucked up as mine, thanks to working homicide.

“When was the last you saw him?” I asked.

He took a sip of water again. “Months ago. He emailed me about a birthday party for his kid, I ignored it. I met her once, dad showed off at a creche ceremony, I went to that one last year. Weird having a sister that young.”

We made arrangements to speak to him again to confirm an alibi, but I had heard enough. Sam Vicens hated his father, but even that was not enough for murder.

I walked in silence, letting the weight of Deconnick’s death notice duty lift off my shoulders. “If Murder Squad doesn’t work out for you, a career as a Family Liaison Officer might,” I eventually told Vitacus. “You’ve got a way of breaking bad news.”

Judging by his amused reaction, it was a common observation. “Dad always said I wear my heart pinned to my keel,” he replied. “There’s nothing wrong with that. A little empathy goes a long way, even with murderers and thieves.”

I was about to agree, but a call from T’Lori broke my concentration. “Krios, my favourite drell. How’s it going in Kithoi?”

“All the better without you,” I replied. “What do you want?”

“Hoorik wants us to interview Gherlak Socmahal at his club while it’s still quiet. Let me know when you’re at the LZ, I’ll meet you there with your skycar.”

“I’ll head back and look into the custody notes,” said Vitacus. “There’s something about them that’s annoying me.”

It was a relief to be back to Zakera’s beat, even though I was only gone an hour. All of the Wards had the same 26 hours of constant lights and noise, but this was familiar. Clubs and bars were closed by law for four hours no matter the location on the Citadel, set between the hours of 14:00 to 18:00 for every day cycle.

It was called the Quiet, a forced rest period to give C-Sec a break from the drunks and the drama. Businesses lobbied for literal centuries to change it, but the Quiet was constant, like the glare of the Widow’s star.

Bats met me outside  _Goronak’s_ , hangover finally gone. “Closed that gang case as soon we got there,” he said. “Dumb fuck had the gun on him.” 

An asari in pink fleecy tracksuit hovered by the door we needed, the off-duty workwear of a stripper. Out of habit, the pair of us checked her arms to see if there were slave markings, but her clothing covered her to the wrist.

It was our luck that the place was unguarded. The bouncers of  _Goronak’s_ had a reputation of being surly, to the point where even hardened beat cops avoided the place. “It’s the Quiet,” said the dancer, finally noticing us. Her arms were full of empties and pebbles, the usual detritus of a bar. “Come back and-”

T’Lori shoved her ID into her face before she could finish. “Investigation Division. Your boss about?”   
  
“What?” she said, eyeing the C-Sec logo. “We’re here to speak to Gherlak Socmahal,” I said. “It is urgent.”   
  
We were taken further in, where the staff -some in their fleece, some not- lazily cleaned the end of their shift. Gherlak Socmahal was propped up the middle of the main bar, a bottle of shard wine in his hand; for a tiny batarian, he had one hell of a presence.   
  
“Well, look what the varren dragged in.” He glared at the girl who brought us, and she flinched. “Always happy to help C-Sec,” he said, eyeing us both.   
  
Socmahal’s glowing facial cybernetics stood out even in the gloom of the club. It was his ultimate _fuck you_ to the Hegemony, a visual marker that severed him from his people. When a batarian lost an eye they went on a pilgrimage to ‘reunify the soul’ and craft a ceremonial replacement; cybernetic eyes were unholy, a defiant spit in the four working eyes of their gods.   
  
He could’ve had an expensive model that looked real enough to fake it, but Socmahal wanted you to see the difference. “We’re here for the investigation of a homicide,” said T’Lori. “I regret to inform you that your business associate Gary Deconnick was murdered approximately fifteen hours ago. His body was found in an empty property registered to you both.”   
  
“Where were during the hours of 26 and 10?” I asked, not giving Socmahal time to react.   
  
I watched his face carefully as he spoke. “In my club,” he said, cleaning his sharp teeth with a finger. “Smile for the camera, by the way. It’s my legal right to film you.” A wave of his omni-tool and glowing purple camera drone drifted over the bar, blinking its lights at us. “Especially since you’re asking such lovely questions that my lawyer will be interested in.”   
  
“It is no problem,” I said, failing to keep the hiss out of my voice. “Can anyone confirm this for you? Just for our records, you understand.”   
  
Socmahal laughed. “Are you serious? The entire fucking staff can confirm. Pick one.”   
  
No one at the bar caught our eye when we looked their way. “We can check the vid-feeds of the place,” said Bats. “Just to make sure.”   
  
“Hmm, _nah_ ,” he replied, smiling at him. “Warrant first.”   
  
It was my turn to ask him a question, keeping the conversation going. “Do you know of anyone who wished to harm your business associate?”   
  
The question amused him. “Plenty. Lots of unhappy souls in the Rookeries. Lorin Suliculus shouts the loudest there.”   
  
We knew who he was, he yelled at C-Sec too. Suliculus was a turian who tried to rally the occupants of the Lower Wards into protests over things I agreed on -food, clean water and heating for all- and things I did not, like violent protests and whipping up a delusion that things would be better if you picked up a gun.   
  
“Did you know the business is now owned by his children?” asked Bats, watching a dancer out of the corner of his of eye. “I did some reading into his will. You still get your 20%, but his kids get the 80.”   
  
Socmahal shrugged. “I don’t give a fuck,” he replied. “They can sell it all off, I don’t care. Dirty business, being a landlord.”   
  
“How did you two get into, ah, business in the first place? If you don’t mind me asking.” I used my best  _talking-to-the-public_ voice, even for a low-life club owner.   
  
He smiled his answer first, though it never reached his eyes. “He was a friend,” he said. “I helped Gary set up his little property idea.”   
  
The Alliance released enough of Deconnick’s military history for us to know he fought in the Skyllian Blitz, a nasty war good for nothing. Marines don’t make friends with batarians easily, even if the Reapers levelled their battlefield.   
  
“Oh? How did you two meet?” said T’lori, as curious as I was.   
  
There was a beat of silence as Socmahal scratched his chin, still amused. “I understand friendship is a hard concept for you to grasp, girlie, since everyone hates C-Sec.”   
  
Neither of us believed a word of anything he told us, but we still had to follow the evidence. Socmahal was too well versed in bureaucratic varren shit to say anything incriminating, and the conversation had dragged on long enough.   
  
“If you know of anything that can further our investigation Mr. Socmahal, please contact us,” I said, passing over the precinct’s contact details with a wave of my omni-tool. “Thank you for your time.”   
  
“No problem,” he replied, smiling. “If you ever want to change career, drell dancers earn more than you make in a year. I do so miss my favourite, he could work a pole for all of Kahje. Or Rak-nie, or wherever hole we found him in. Mouth of an angel, that boy.”   
  
We both knew what he meant. C-Sec officers are meant to be resilient to abuse, an expected part of our work. Doesn’t mean we don’t react, however, and find something to do about it. “I suggest you watch your tone,” I said. “Before I feel the need to inspect something.”   
  
Socmahal was clever. He never openly insulted us, just laid out his words like we were all playing Skyllian Five, just casual banter among friends. “Go ahead, I can do with a laugh. You’ll find nothing, not even a scrap of hallex.”

The girl wiping down the table near us stopped, eyes wide at my sudden stiffness. Socmahal had dropped his affable scoundrel act with one reply, and my professional mask slipped off in turn. 

“I can keep this going past the Quiet,” I told him. “Be a nuisance. I’ll find something, I’m sure.” My words stilled the room, but I never kept my eyes off of Socmahal, even if his four eyes unnerved me.

A clicking above my head finally pulled me out of the stare. The camera from the bar still blinked at me as it zoomed over my fins, and I felt my gut unclench. 

This was a trap, and I was in danger of falling right into it.  
  
“You sure I can’t tempt you into a new career, detective?” he said, smiling at my refusal to look at him now. “I’ll let you keep your uniform on. Some like that sort of thing.”

“You really are something,” said Bats, staring at his hands. “But you can’t keep this up for long. You’ll fuck up, you guys always do.”

I breathed through my anger, a hiss in my throat as I replied. “If you know anything that can help, call us. But I suspect you won’t.”  
  
“That drell was worth his wage,” he replied, ignoring the question. “Felt like the couch was being sucked through me when he started,” he said, four eyes staring at the ceiling. “I mean, everyone goes on about asari being the good time girls of the galaxy, but your kind? Rare enough to get the punters, and better at it too. I missed it when he died. Really, mouth of an angel.”   
  
A crackle of blue energy sparked out of the corner of my eye, and I swore under my breath.

Bats had fallen for it. “You shitheel,” he said, fists tight against his sides. “I will-”   
  
“Detective T’Lori.” I grabbed his arm to calm him down, aware of our audience waiting for two C-Sec detectives to play their role at police brutality. Pain jolted up my arm as his biotics flared again, and I clenched my teeth to ride it out. “Not here.”

The pair of us left without a word. Everything about this thrice fucked establishment was  _probably_ above board and legal; previous C-Sec raids saw to that. Socmahal kept himself afloat from the business he buried in the depths below, but he’d make a mistake soon enough.

I followed T’Lori as he strode ahead, too angry to talk me. We were walking -running, really- in the wrong direction, heading towards the slums of Lower Wards instead of the squad car. “Slow down,” I said. “Bats, come on.”   
  
T’Lori lifted the nearest trash unit with a flick on his biotics, sending it sailing over the edge of the walkway. A shriek of metal and his frustrated yelling followed after, both ignored by the vacuum seal of the flight path.   
  
I leaned over the edge to see the thing bouncing safely into the safety barrier below. “Well,” I said. “At least you didn’t hit anything.”   
  
“That fucker,” he said, staring at busy skylanes. “He knew.”   
  
“We were baited.” I flicked my jacket into shape, tugging at the sleeves in my own annoyance “But you didn’t melt the bastard for the vids. There’s that, at least.”   
  
His rage had sunk now, a slower burn. T’lori sighed, hands on his hips. His eyes watered with something, jaw tight; I stood in silence next to him, waiting for a reaction. “Well. I’m fuckin’ hungry,” he mumbled, refusing to say anything else about it. “We parked near that burrito vending machine, let’s go.”   
  
A mercurial rage sated by grease was an easy fix to take. “Not for long, I’ve had my break. But If you want to risk food poisoning, sure. You’re buying, you still owe me a tea.”   
  
“Fuck you,” he replied. “Caffeine ain’t a meal. Get your own.”

He still brought me one anyway, and the thing almost splattered my stab vest as he threw it my way. “Did you at least get me the right sauce?” I said. “You never do.”

“You got spicy  _tupa._ Hope you choke on it,” he replied.

“We’re even.”

Bats thoughtfully spoke again after shoving half a burrito into his mouth. We sat in the front of my skycar, watching the shoppers of the narrow street go past. “I saw you looking at that girl at the bar, by the way. Nice titties, good choice.”

I swallowed a bite of my own before answering, guilty I was eating a second lunch. “I didn’t stare at anyone. That’s what you do.”

“’Cause you can do your weird drell shit and remember tits forever. It’s wasted on you, Krios.”   
  
Why did aliens always think eidetic memory was a blessing? For every good memory there was always a bad that followed, no matter the consequence. “If you say so.”   
  
“A history of great racks in detail,  _oof_. I looked too, I ain’t blind. She had a face like a krogan chewin’ a varren bone, though.”   
  
I hoped by all the Gods I would not regret my second lunch- I did not want my last night with my girlfriend hunched over a toilet. “I’m sure she thinks highly of your opinion,” I said. “What don’t you go back and tell her?”   
  
The jab was ignored. “Nah, good titties don’t balance out a face. I still got to look at it between my legs, I got standards.”   
  
“Arashu spare me.” Despite the casual objectification of his own kind, the bastard still managed to find women to sleep with. Somehow T’Lori was smart enough to hide his faults, at least for one night.   
  
“You been with blue before?”   
_  
__-oh.’ Her pitying gaze bore through me and I pushed her off. I knew what she had seen, and whatever bliss I had from my release was soured by the meld. ‘Kolyat wait.’ I never wanted to go through it again, not for-_  
  
He knew I had, but I ignored the question. “You’re a repugnant asari being. It would never work out, we’ve been through this.”   
  
It was his turn to ignore the sass. “I remember now. The shop girl from before the war,” Bats said, smirking at me. “You said.”   
  
“Sometimes you can do that. Remember things,” I said. “It truly is a wonder, considering your taste in booze.”   
  
“A bottle still holds a better conversation than you.” We ate our burritos in thankful silence, but T’Lori’s strength was returning in each bite. “ _So_ ,” he said. “Are they asari? Bet they are. Bet you’re a bluepie.”   
  
I did nothing but sigh, folding up the remains of my burrito into the package again. “I’m done,” I told him. “Let’s go.”   
  
“Hey, don’t throw that out,” he said. “I can finish it.”   
  
We went our separate ways when we made it back to the station, and I began to upload the report on Socmahal and his godsdamned club, omitting the fact that T’Lori nearly crushed him with biotics.  

As soon as it was done and uploaded, it disappeared from the system, a bright orange screen announcing an error code. “Thrice fuck it.”

Patel noticed my mumbling and ambled over, offering me a sugary gummiworm from his endless pot of snacks. “Problem?”

“CSES,” I said, glaring at the screen.

“Ah,” he said, nodding. “That’s a two worm solution,” and left me with another to go write his own reports.

Our terminals were pre-war and had a tendency to break if you did too many things at once on the network. I was halfway through my last worm when I uploaded the report again, but the same thing happened. “Gods damn piece of shit, _why.”_

“Don’t you call the Goddess Tiramisu’s name in vain,” Patel said, his own sugary treat jammed in his mouth. “No candy for Godless heathens.”

“Fuck off, Patel.”

The file was gone again, as if I had personally deleted it. Out of curiosity, I pulled up all the information I knew I read today on Socmahal; even the older cases were missing, hacked away from our database by something.

I logged the report for the third time just to check, but as soon as it was uploaded the same error code appeared. I was on hold with the Network Division to see what was going on, but hung up as soon as I saw DI Hoorik.

She stormed up the incident room pathway, thunderous face intent on yelling at me. “You. My office.  _Now.”_

As DI she had her own space, but Hoorik never used it. She preferred to work alongside her detectives, if only to keep an eye on us all. If you were called into her office for one of her ‘private chats,’ it usually meant a sound bollocking.

“Yes, ma’am?” I said, hands behind my back. “Is there a problem?”

“Fuck Special Tactics,” she spat at me, looking for something on her chaotic desk. “They are pissing in our business again.”  
  
I startled. DI Hoorik rarely swore, unlike the rest of us. When she did, it was all our problem. “Ma’am?” I asked.   
  
“Spectre Tavi has expressed concern over your handling of Gherlak Socmahal. Apparently, he is important enough to warrant Spectre protection. She told me that it would be ‘for the best’ we leave him alone, I just got a call.”

The mystery of the self-deleting files was solved now that Spectres were involved. “Thrice fuck it. The bastard knew something, I’m sure of it.”

Hoorik shoved her hat on her head, still annoyed. “ _Usch_. He’s probably only a lousy little informant at most for her. I tried, Krios. She was pushing her weight around. Why do Spectres throw out the baby with the bathwater? There are always ways around these things.”

“Is the entire thing closed?” I asked, ignoring the baffling idiom. “Is there nothing?”

She snorted once. “I was told we could still investigate the Deconnick murder, but Socmahal is off limits. How considerate of her.” Hoorik grumbled something my translator couldn’t catch, a resignation at the bureaucratic side-stepping we faced to do our own damn jobs.

_-look I ain’t promising to hold your hand for every case,’ he said. ‘But if there’s a real shitty one that needs it, give me a call. Sometimes you can be in over your head and-_

I let the memory of Bailey slide away, frowning. He was a Commander,  outstripping Hoorik and the precinct captain in rank. He was in charge of Council Liaisons -not quite Executor of C-Sec, but getting there.

He still thought of himself as my mentor. I refused his help then, when he offered. Now I was thinking about taking it.

“If they could let us do our jobs, for once,” said Hoorik, slumped on her desk. “The Alliance are still reticent to share information on Deconnick, classified they say. Let’s hope CSI have something from the autopsy, because two leads are closed.”

Spectres had a special interest in our case, and there was nothing we could do about it.   



	4. Email Interlude: Day 1

**To:**  Detective K. Krios, C-Sec District 12: ZW-3498

 **From:** CSI Wiks, District 12: ZW-4724

 **Subject:** Re: Deconnick  

Dearest Detectives,

If any of you contact me again about case file ZW-LW-96723A (the Deconnick), I will personally forward the contents of my spam filter directly into your inbox, as well as three years worth of clan newsletters my uncle insists on writing every week.

I understand your urgency, and have even made a note of it in my best handwriting. If any of you are trained in autopsy and analytical scene of crime work, then please- my labs are open, do suit up and pop yourself through my decon-chamber to lend a helping hand.

There is only one of me working today, your patience is needed.

-CSI Wiks

 

* * *

  


**To:**  Kolyat Krios, Personal Mail  
**From** : Oriana Lee, Personal Mail  
**Subject:** [no subject]

K,

Working late aaaaaargh. Something has come up, sorrysorry

meet me at mine at 20:00, if early use code- have cleared access with security.

BRING DINNER I don’t have time to get anything. If there’s anything salarian at the ration depot pleez get! will pay back later.

 -Oriana Lee, Project Manager  
Kellam Industries

  _-sent from my Ariake_

 

* * *

 

 **To:** Precinct 14 Mailing List  
**From:** Sergeant L. Phalia, C-Sec District 12: ZW-1134  
**Subject:** PRECINCT 14’s MEAT RAFFLE AND SWAP MEET!!!!

Congratulations go to: Detective Patel, Officer Berian, and Officer T’soa! Please pick up your prizes from the canteen’s chiller unit.

Next month’s tickets are split between the Citadel Refugee Crisis Center, Galactic Red Cross, and the Lifebringer Brigade, and will go on sale at the usual time.  

For all us of with kids, a swap meet is held outside the main garage (by the vending machine!) for clothes, sports equipment, and cadet/boot uniforms. Anything not used can be donated to charity.

-Sergeant E. Phalia

* * *

  


**To:**  Kolyat Krios, Personal Mail  
**From** : SewBot 1.7: Your Personal Tailor For The Extranet  
**Subject:**  This Week’s Alerts, As Chosen By You!

 

Sere Krios,

Hello and welcome to SewBot! As a new customer, we’re giving you three extra search terms for free. To use them now, please log in via your extranet ID to confirm.

Here is a condensed version of your updated alerts, made to measure for your perusal. To change the frequency of these mails, please adjust your feed settings accordingly.

 

-SewBot

 

=======

 **EXTRANET SEARCH ALERT: KOLYAT KRIOS** _[12 mentions, 2 new articles]_

 _Vanity’s Galaxy, three days ago:_ No one exactly needs a reason to buy your favourite drink, but just in case, Kepral’s awareness is as good an excuse as any. According to a study conducted by the Illuminated Primacy, a drell is diagnosed with Kepral’s every day on Kahje alone, making it the most common disease among drell universe-wide.

In 2186, former Councillor Valern began his crusade against Kepral’s by launching what is now known as the Kepral’s Research Foundation alongside founding members Kolyat Krios, Galereno, and Gikorm Miljie. He states: “I would not be here if it was not in thanks to a drell, who took his life to save mine. This is the very least I can do.”

This year marks the 5th anniversary of his tireless efforts, which have inspired countless others to become active in the fight. Through Weeping Heart’s nonprofit organisation, Tireless Angels, doctors and disease researchers have worked to prevent, detect, and treat Keprals, in part thanks to donations made by the vast number of liquor brands both within and outside of Weeping Heart Companies.

“It makes me feel so proud to see how far we’ve come," says Lalam Suol, spokesmodel for Weeping Heart’s Tireless Angels Campaign. "Kepral’s is the most common disease in drell, and one in eight of us will develop it in our lifetime- that is still devastating. I am, however, hopeful for the future knowing that we continue to fund the best research through Tireless Angels, with the ultimate goal of saving lives and finding a cure.”

By purchasing one of the limited edition glowing drinks highlighted in the gallery below, Weeping Heart will donate anywhere from 20 to 100 percent of the proceeds from every sale in support of Kepral’s Research Foundation. Mihal Samea, owner of Weeping Heart, has -like many drell- been directly affected by Kepral’s, and has donated 50,000 credits every year since 2187, no matter the campaign.

For every 25 credits received by the Kepral’s Fund, another 15 minutes of research is funded. This means that if Tireless Angels reaches this year's fund-raising goal of 8 million credits, they'll be supporting 160,000 hours of research, which will make it their most successful year yet.

So, put those credits to good use and help find a cure, all by raising your glass in support of Kepral’s Awareness!

 

=======

 **EXTRANET SEARCH ALERT: HUMAN/DRELL** _(safety filter: moderate) [241 mentions, 1 new articles]_

 _Citadel Beat, two days ago:_ Interspecies relationships is a topic on everyone’s lips thanks to the recent gossip about former Commander Shepard and her rumoured beau, Advisor Vakarian.

Is society more open to mixed couples? It’s more common than you think! We interviewed five visitors at the “World in Bloom” exhibition in Tayseri’s botanical garden to tell us about their experiences with dating outside their species.

 1) "I’m human, and I’ve dated turians in the past, and I haven’t had a super bad experience before- I've gotten some stares, but nothing too bad. My sister dated a quarian guy and my grandma freaked out about it. She literally asked my sister why she couldn’t find a nice colony guy or even a turian. It caused a lot of issues for her and their relationship, and ultimately, he ended the relationship due to his Pilgrimage. My sister is very non-confrontational, and so she wouldn’t invite him over if Grandma was there, because she didn’t want to cause problems, but in reality, it did."

2) "I’m a turian woman with an asari bondmate. I live in a very liberal area where interspecies relationships are very common, so I think people tend to be more accepting here than other places I’ve lived. I have received a few rude comments in the past, and so has my wife, but it’s not a regular occurrence or anything. Once someone asked me if I was sure I wanted to have kids with my bondmate because they wouldn’t look like me. That’s the most hurtful and ridiculous kind of comment I’ve heard."

3) “I’m a drell man with a human woman. We were friends before we got married, and I have heard all sorts about it, even before we were together. It’s not the racism that upsets me the most, or the disapproval from either side- it’s the weird fetishisation from random creeps. That somehow my wife is open to offers since she’s with a drell -since obviously, she’s only in it for the chemicals, or that somehow we’re more sexual because we’re an interspecies couple. I’m not sure why people think we’re massive party animals, you know. We’re only on the Citadel to meet up with her family and visit the botanical gardens."

4) "I’m a single maiden ready for anything and with anyone, haha. It’s been too long. Are you free? Sorry, I’m drunk.”

5) "I am krogan. I once melded with an asari Huntress who beat me at cards- it kind of tingled and I sneezed a lot after. Not sure it’s worth a kick in the quad over.”

=======

 

 **EXTRANET SEARCH ALERT: CAT OWNERSHIP** _(safety filter: strong) [345,2334,22 mentions, 2310 new articles]_

 _Miaow Mag, one day ago:_ We at _Miaow Mag_ understand that your cat is more than a pet, and with rationing in place, it’s hard to feed them the nutrition they need. Next time you’re at the ration depot we recommend* ordering these meal packs from your coupons to help feed them.

Levo 14a: smoked mackerel, green beans and boiled potatoes. It is advised you wash off the pepper sauce. Do not feed them the potatoes or the beans.

Levo 5b: chicken soup. Do not follow instructions and make the soup as planned, but simply rehydrate the chicken portion with hot water.

Levo 15: suvo stew. Pick out the fish pieces and wash thoroughly. It is recommended you add a nutritional protein power (we suggest Feliamix.)

Levo 6a: varren mixed meat. Do not get the seasoned or air dried versions. Mix with your cat’s normal kibble, if available. A word of caution: varren meat may be explosive to a cat’s gut flora, and take some time to adjust.

A friendly reminder: DO NOT feed your cat anything asari in origin, the eezo is harmful even in small doses.

_*Our legal team reminded us to tell you that these meals do not replace a cat’s nutritional need in the long term. Please don’t sue us._

  



	5. Spiderwebs

The only way to get over a bad case was to start a new one, but someone had to tell Bats T’Lori that the Deconnick investigation now had an injunction thanks to Gorlak Socmahal.

If I was honest with myself, I didn’t want to roll over either. I was pissed just enough to solve this thrice-fucked case no matter the consequences, too furious over the political meddling to quit now.

“Problem?” asked Patel, scratching at who knows what on his elbow. No one went out of Hoorik’s office smiling, and he was waiting for the fallout.

“Spectre gagging order,” I said, sitting by my desk.

He whistled once, a low sound. “That’s a problem.”

“Might be a workaround if CSI finds us something.”

I still had things to do. Ty’gosh Wey’s camera took up a small corner of my table, sealed in its evidence plastic, much like its owner in our lockup. Sergeant Phalia had cut the audio feed to his cell, and eventually he stopped insulting anything in a uniform. The vid-feed showed him on the bed with his head in his hands, sad and quiet.

I checked the CSES databanks to see if he had the legal aid I requested- on route, apparently. Ty’gosh’s drug dealing was a side catch, but one we could use for leverage if his camera had nothing.

Patel looked at his snack pot thoughtfully after watching me. “You have a five worm problem, and I’m out of candy. How about some dried tupa bars?”

“Gods no,” I replied. “They’re awful.”

“What is?” asked Bats, strolling in with a protein shake. He was always fucking eating or slurping something, a habit he blamed on his biotics.

That Bats was calm meant he hadn’t heard the news yet. “You’ve spoken to Hoorik yet?” I said, looking at him.

“Nah. Why?” I would’ve explained, but our omni-tools went off at the same time in a distinct beep, louder than our usual comm chatter.

It was a daily interruption. Control wanted us somewhere, and fast. “Looks like a 507 over at Walkway,” said Patel, checking his monitor. “Seems Specialist Crime needs a hand, they have a Tactics team in already- looks messy.”

Bats scowled, annoyed by the order. “Why is it always us?”

“Because they love us so,” said Patel. “That and the gangs have been extra frisky this week, so they need bodies in suits. Anyone know why?”

A 507 was comm code for a gang-related murder, usually taken on by a Specialist Crime Squad instead of us. They focused on ‘community crime,’ a politer way of saying the black market smuggling, drug dealing and illegal weapons that flooded the Citadel even after the War.

But they were overworked, and their caseload always spilled into ours. Sometimes we were called in to make the numbers; C-Sec trained their detectives for all eventualities, and we filled the raid gear nicely.

“Arachnids are pushing into Defiance turf,” said Bats. “Or so my guy says.”

“Your guy, eh?” said Patel. “Surprising what you can find in a go-go bar.”

“A distinct lack of his personal dignity,” I said. 

He flicked us both a rude gesture, but I could see he didn’t mean it. “It’s part of my community outreach program. All part of the service, just reaching out to the general public.”

“Good to know that  _Lexi’s Lovelies_ is official C-Sec business now,” said Patel. “Tell me, when you reach out, is it to grab ass or titties, or is that extra?”

Bats was indignant at being accused of groping. Apparently even the perverted had standards, and he poked Patel with a finger. “I look but don’t touch the art, idiot. If Lexi knew I was-”

 _“T’Lori! Krios!”_ Hoorik had strode out of her office so fast she startled Patel into dropping his snackpot.

Hoorik’s face was tight and fixed on us, even if we weren’t the subject of her rage- or hoped she wasn’t. “The fuck?” said Bats, whispering. “What’s goin’ on?”

Hoorik got to us before I could answer. “So far three confirmed deaths in Zakera Walkway’s tram station, definitely a 507,” she said. “They need back up- Special Response has cleared us, but we go in armed. Krios, T’Lori- suit up, please. Patel-”

He interrupted her before she dismissed him outright. “I can take it, and I need to stretch my legs. There’s only so many tax records and expense forms I can read, ma’am.”

“He’s our best shot,” said Bats. “For some fuckin’ reason.”

It was one of life’s mysteries why Patel was gifted with decent sniping skills- the bastard didn’t even practise that often, or so he claimed. “Fine,” said Hoorik, rolling her eyes. “Vitacus will meet us there. Move out.”

It took us minutes to put on our raid gear, the locker room that housed it attached to the garage. My hardsuit was heavier than my everyday uniform, woven with a ballistic weave and shield generator. If I wore it for more than four hours, it pinched my scales into welts.

Bats checked my seals for me as I checked his, tugging at the weapon strip on his shoulder. Investigation detectives had a standard issue pistol we kept on at all times, but in hostile situations, gear came down to skill and preference. My weapons of choice were stun grenades and a shotgun- a tactical shotgun, but still about as subtle as a brick to the face.

Once I stopped subconsciously trying to follow my father, I realised my skill-set best suited to weapons that hit hard and fast-

_-again,’ Father said, as I lay winded on the practise mat. His breathing rattled, Kepral’s an unwanted guest in the room. My old man still handed me my ass, even if I could land the first punch. ‘You are admirable at starting something, but what follows is-_

I was more stealthy than my team. It was a skill suitable for official C-Sec de-escalation methods since I could pin suspects where we wanted them. Sometimes all it took was one well-aimed grenade to tag and collar our targets.

_-fuck me, Krios,’ Bats said, a streak of blue blur going past as the EMP flashing died down. ‘You’re an idiot. Good job I’m here to-_

In theory, anyway. I was always first in and last to leave with most raids, and if I wasn’t covered could go down very quickly.

With both the lights and sirens going, we were at the scene in minutes. “Looks like we got Pixel leading,” said Bats, squinting at the Special Response team milling the station. “Fuck.”

Hoorik gave him one of her looks. “Smile and deal with it,” she said. “And stay sharp.”

I never met an agreeable tactics officer. Most of them seemed to get off on their job and assumed they held C-Sec up in their meaty hands, that the rest of us were here just to smile at the general public. “I am the model of diplomacy,” I said, clipping a heatsink to my ammo band.

The contempt was apparently mutual. “You took your time,” Pixel said, scowling over his assault rifle.

“Hey,” said Vitacus, nodding at us. He was already dressed in his suit and helmet, and loomed over the smaller turian beside him.

Officer Pixelus was a bulky turian with an unusually thick neck, and a humourless bastard to boot. Humans called him Officer Fairy behind his cowl- something to do with one of their myths. He hated it, and loudly. “Are you good to go?”

“Of course,” said Hoorik, getting to the point. “Are we clear?”

“Parts of the station are, ma’am,” said Pixelus. A holoscan of the area lit the space between us, and I squinted to memorise the layout. “The remaining suspects are holed up by an info booth, though there’s a dampening field disrupting our bots. I plan for your team to flank via the service tunnels, while I lead the frontal assault with mine.”

I raised a brow at that, curious. Gangs had a lot of toys in their arsenal thanks to the black market, but disruptors were top tier mercenary gear. “Any eyes on the target?” I asked.

“Last known sighting was by the booth. But we have control of the situation.” Pixelus said it in such a smug way that we all exchanged a look, barely short of an eye roll. “All exits are covered.”

Before the war, eighty four percent of all call-outs ended without the Special Response team firing a single shot, but a broken Citadel changed a few things. “At least the station’s closed for engineering,” said Vitacus. “They’re only shooting each other.”

“Nice of them,” said Bats. “If they could crawl into the bodybags after, it’ll make it easier.”

Pixelus adjusted the zoom of the map with a pinch, a simulation of a mixed species gang hiding out by a tiny VI booth lighting up in holo. “Just rats in a trap, should be easy. No idea why Arachnid scum chose the station for their little shooting party, but that’s your job to find out.”

Technically it was Specialist Crime’s job. We were here to be competent bodies in uniform, but C-Sec was funny on rank. Pixelus was a SR officer and in charge of the raid, but it was Hoorik would make the official final call -even if she was just signing it off- thanks to her rank as DI.

“Enough,” she said, and our spines snapped straight at her tone. She had twitched at the mention of body bags, but it was Pixel’s rat comment that pushed her over.

Bats at least looked contrite. “My apologies,” said Pixelus, but we could all see he didn’t mean it. “The station is under lockdown, but they’re still hostile. I’m not letting medical anywhere near them all until they’re in custody. Are you ready?”

“On your lead,” said Hoorik. I checked the seals of my gear one last time, even though I knew it was safe.

We had no choice but to follow Pixel’s directions. The tunnels were blacked out from a power cut, and I followed suit by switching off my hardsuit’s lights. I kept in a tight formation with the group in front, slipping into a familiar role.

Pixel nodded beside me. Hoorik, Vitacus, and T’Lori were at our backs, and Patel followed with one of the SR officers, dimming the window of his visor as we crouched by the entrance of the station.

There was already a body at the top of the stairs. Dark red blood dripped slowly down the steps, collecting in a pool at the bottom. Victim number one, a young human I put around fifteen years of age. We stepped around her body, and I could see the facial tattoos of Arachnid slash a delicate face, clumsy lines bisecting a nose that-

_-my nose is not big,’ Oriana said, affronted. ‘Yours is just-_

I processed her probable murder without thinking. Homicide by a gunshot wound to the stomach. It went clean through, her thin plastic armour failing to catch it. Odd that they had the equipment to dampen C-Sec technology, but still armoured their fighters in flimsy suiting.

Pixel signed there were four above us with a free hand, and we quietly kept guard as Hoorik hacked the door meant for station workers. C-Sec had overrides for all of the Citadel’s functioning infrastructure, but sometimes private companies liked to boost the security with mods of their own.

As soon as the door opened, Pixel gestured for me to cover them as they left. He signalled his team to lead upstairs, nodding at us to move in.

We worked in silence still. After two minutes of jogging in a darkened hallway our comms sprang to life, and I startled at the noise.  “Progress?”

“I have another door to open,” answered Hoorik, keeping her voice low. 

We heard the yelling through the walls before we saw it, followed by rapid gunfire. Pixel’s team had moved in without us or were spotted.

The automated orders began, both VIs and officers shouting out warnings.  _“This is C-Sec. You are surrounded.”_

“Fuck.” Bats hissed through his teeth, impatient at the flashing lock. I could see Hoorik glare at the entrance panel, fighting the code to open it faster.

_“Lay down your weapons and raise your hands above your head.”_

The lights turned green, and the doors slid open.  We had to act, and fast. “Krios, now,” Hoorik started to say, but I was moving before she even gave the order, pulling down my visor to shield my eyes from the incoming fallout.

There is an art to throwing a grenade. I had three seconds to establish the distance between us and the targets, all before I exposed myself with a throw. I had just enough to calculate the trajectory and-

_-the stone bounced between the twins of the Overlook before silently plunging into the sea, right where I wanted it to be. I could always throw it the furthest; one day I would-_

This shot wasn’t about distance, but accuracy. Our targets were forty metres from us, but focused their attention on Pixel’s team.

There was no time to creep along the shadows to find the perfect spot. I rolled my arm back to lob one lone flash grenade into the booth where they were hiding, the glass already shot to pieces.

It was a mess after that, but a deceptive one. The EMP pulse from my flashbang brought all their shields down and blinded their sight, enough distraction for Bats to pin most of them in place with a solitary stasis bubble.

It was an easy takedown for the rest. Pixel’s team moved in to smack away hands from weapons, and a messy shot from a sniper brought down the remaining cornered target, a gripped pistol still in his hands.

It wasn’t enough. Some targets were MIA and on the run. Usually my job, but I was in no position to give chase. I had an armful of squirming Arachnid to subdue into cuffs.

“Not the cleanest,” said Bats, annoyed at himself. His biotics couldn’t get them all, and a blur of blue in my eyeline meant he was ahead and ready to strike again.

Vitacus got one. “Don’t move. This is not worth dying over,” he told the girl. She was turian; Arachnids were mostly human, but the occasional  _other_ still joined, her faceplates slashed with the red lines of their symbol.

His demand worked, but she remained defiant even in her terror. “Fuck you,” she said. “You got shit. We won.”

Bats had warped another, rooting the last target before he could run, but Pixel got to him before we could. “Stay down, _rat.”_

The butt of his rifle was raised over the weaponless kid, ready to strike a bare face.

I was convinced he would’ve followed through if Hoorik hadn’t noticed.  _“Officer Pixelus!”_ She was loud enough for her voice to bounce off the walls. “Put him with the others.”

The situation was finally secured, though we still held our weapons in place. A line of gang members were cuffed by our teams and placed by the entrance. They started at the ones shot to pieces in from of them, friend and enemy alike bleeding out on the cold floor.

One victim looked bad, human boy gasping the final rattling breaths of the dying. “What was this even for?” I asked, staunching the chest wound as much as I could. Medigel only did so much, and at the back of my mind I knew where he was going.

He had stopped breathing. I knew enough to clear his airway and start chest compressions, and would keep going until I was told to stop.

_-I hunched over the VI dummy, hands denting a plastic chest. ‘If you’re familiar with Skinsuit’s “Please Don’t Go,” now is a good time to hum it,’ said the training instructor. ‘Should be enough rhythm for most bipedal species-_

The fucking song was in my head before I knew what I was doing.  _Baby, baby, please don’t stop, honey sugar one more day, my heart is in your hands-_

His friends refused to look me in the eye as I mumbled the lyrics, but I caught a defiant smirk from one that had leader written all over him. “You tell them shit,” he said to his crew. “You hear me?”

The turian girl looked away, mandibles tight on her face. She was an alien face amongst all the humans, and apparently important enough to be singled out by her boss. “I know,” she said. “I promised.”

Her leader-friend tried to move in closer, but Bats pushed him down. “You did so good,” he told her. “You tell them shit, babe.”

“Babe? _Aaw,_ cute,” Bats said, breaking them up again. “But nah. Stay put.”

Hoorik tagged Pixel once on the shoulder for a private talk, and I eavesdropped even as I continued my compressions. “We will escort those that can walk back to the holding tank,” she told him. “My team can process them at the station. Escort Medical from the station entrance.”

Out the corner of my eye, I could see him try to argue her logic, one last push against her authority. “No offence, but my guys are better if something goes wrong.”

“They are children without their toys,” she said, and I assumed she meant the gang members. “We are fine.”

Vitacus patched up another wounded with a deep cut through their thigh. “Fuckers,” his patient spat, human face pale and drawn. “Don’t touch me,  _boneface.”_

He was an angry, shouting child. “Watch your mouth,” I said, out of breath now from compressions. My uniform was stained with blood, but there was nothing I could do about it. “Does he have a name?” I asked him. “Your friend. The one who’s dying.”

They took their order of silence seriously. Guilt, however, played on one. “We call him Digger. I don’t know why,” said the turian girl, refusing to look at me.

“Shut the fuck up,” her leader hissed. “I told you.”  

“That’s enough. The rest of you behave,” said Bats. He had his pistol out, just in case. “Unless you want us to leave you alone to bleed out?” He got no answer. “No? Didn’t think so. Be nice to the people who can keep you alive.”

I fumbled my rhythm during compression and started it again with a growl. “Gods damn it.” It felt like a losing battle no matter what I did. “Come on, Digger,” I told him. “Please.”

PR often told the press that Lower Ward crime could be reduced by a ‘greater community involvement and integration between Ward citizens and C-Sec.’ They were shiny words that meant nothing when you held a dying boy in your hands.

We had no patrols for the work they wanted us to do. It just came down to us, pretending to hold up civilisation. Postwar made it easier for gangs to thrive, but to a point; an empire was hard to maintain with limited resources. Rations, weapons, and clean water were still precious commodities, heavily controlled and portioned by the Council.

Not much trickled down to the bottom. C-Sec was left alone and understaffed to clean up after the gangs that fought over the scraps, all of them intent on murdering each other over a box of rations.

_-starve ‘em out, I say. It’s easier,’ she said. I opened my mouth and closed it, blinking at her. Sergeant T’sa was a long-serving officer of 40 years, bitter and broken by her own system. ‘What’s the matter, Krios? Too rough for-_

A hand was on my shoulder, pulling me aside. “I can take over.” I looked at the purple uniform of a salarian medic and only stopped my compressions when her hands were on Digger’s chest.

Her asari colleague gave a cursory swipe of her omni-tool over his injuries. The look she gave me was not good, and she didn’t know what to tell me. “I had to try,” I said.

“That’s more than most. Just make sure we’re safe to do our jobs, I’m not paid enough to be shot at.”

“His name is Digger,” I told them. A helpless statement.

I washed my uniform outside as best I could with a bottle of water, watching as the remaining gang was put into the flatbeds we used for crowd control. “We don’t have to stay and process,” said Bats. His gaze followed the blood drip down the nearest drain, and he shrugged. “Your guy. The kid.”

“Hmm?”

“Medics called it on the journey. The rest is okay though, the ones that ain’t dead.”

“I need a shower,” I said, not knowing what else to say. Seven dead, for a reason no one was sure of yet.

Pixel was leaning on our ride home when we go there, talking to a bored Patel. Apparently, my skycar happened to be the closest for his bony ass to sit on, and I shooed him off with a look.

“When you going to join a real squad?” he said, smiling at Bats. “Always room for a biotic, especially one like you. You did well out there, T’Lori. I was impressed.”

It sailed just under the radar of a flirt. Most turians were oblivious to subtleties of alien relations, but some like Pixel understood them all too well. “When I lose my brain cells,” Bats replied. “You guys still remember which way to hold the gun up, or do you need a diagram?”

“Let’s go,” I said before a pissing match would start. “Hoorik wants a word with you, Officer Pixelus.” Technically a lie, but I was fed up with looking at him.

Patel eased himself into the back of the car, amused at Pixel’s sullen walk back to the incident site. “Did Krios tell you the news, Battie?” he said, scratching at his neck. “This is a big one.”

I rooted around the front storage where I kept T’lori’s emergency rations, something we all did when we worked with Bats. “Drink this,” I said, dumping a protein shake in his lap. “You’re an asshole after you’ve used your biotics.”

“No I ain’t, go fuck your mother,” he replied. “And what you tellin’ me, anyway?”

“We got Spectres in the Deconnick case,” said Patel.  _“Woo,_ ghosts.”

There was a pause as we watched Bats, gauging a reaction. “I know,” he said, slurping his drink. “Anything else?”

I expected a glowing fist through my haptic interface, but what I got was a bland calm. “We can’t investigate Gherlak Socmahal anymore,” I added, intrigued by the reaction. “Spectres have expressed an interest in our interest. He’s off-limits, according to Spectre Tavi.”

“Yep.”

The bastard must have something to go on, he was too smug. “And what do you know, exactly? I’m curious.”

Bats only grinned. “I know a lot of shit.”

“Yes. And?”

“Answer the man,” said Patel, leaning forward from the back. “Let me make a note, can’t let this prime example of detective work pass us by.”

“So,” said Bats, tagging my arm. My tech armour flared at the contact. “I did some digging, and think I got it.”

The bastard was too smug. “What, exactly?” I asked. “Is it enough to implement Socmahal to the case?”

Bats only grinned. “Maybe.”

I gestured for him to continue, annoyed now. “Well?” said Patel, looking over his visor at us, and I realised then that Bats knew _shit_.

“Gods dammit.” This had all the makings of a trap, but I still fell into it, even when I knew it was there. “Just get on with it,” I said. “Go on.”

Patel cackled, and rapped the curve of my pauldron with a fist. “That’s the spirit.”

“ _So_. I know your gal is a she, and that she’s asari,” Bats said. “Only has to point her finger and you do what you’re told. Someone around the Mother stage, maybe four hundred years and some change. Am I right, Patel?”

“I think you’re off by a few light years,” he added. “I still think it’s a drell,” he replied. “Interspecies isn’t everyone’s cup of chai, but I agree on the finger waggling. Anything for an easy life, eh? You’re a smart man, Krios.”

The wager, the _stupid_ fucking wager. After what just happened the joke seemed an ancient past, distant from the blood and spent heatsinks of a gang shooting.

I could do nothing but chuff, too tired to argue.  _“Gods dammit.”_

“What, am I wrong? Can’t be,” said Patel. “I know the brow of a harangued man. I see it every day. Mostly in the mirror.”

“Good for you.” I pushed T’lori away, still too close for my liking. “I’m going to the Suit Squad after I’ve cleaned up,” I said. “Someone has to do their job, even if you’re not. We got a camera to process still. I left it on my desk before we left.”

“Wait for me, I’ll come too,” said Bats. “I want to see what’s on it.”

“You know, Krios,” said Patel, picking at his chin. “I often wonder why you ended up with us. Always thought the tech department would suit you better.”

Bats shrugged at me. “He ain’t wrong. No people, just omni-tools and terminals to stare at. Perfect for you, Kol.”

I was good at my job, and they knew it too. “No thank you. I’m happy as a detective.”

“You don’t have an enviro-suit to fit in with their gang, but I’m sure they’ll lend you one if you ask.” Patel grinned, refusing to let it go. “No, it’s because you’re good at data shenanigans, bores me to tears.”

I parked the cruiser in the garage and pulled Bats to one side after Patel walked on ahead. “You have something,” I said. “What do you know about the Deconnick case that I don’t?”

He would’ve answered, but Hoorik’s car hovered above us. “Nothing, _yet_. Go shower, I’ll meet you out front in ten.”

I took my cold shower and left as soon as possible, shivering back into my daily uniform as I met up with T’lori again. “Let’s go,” I said. “Suit Squad doesn’t know we’re coming, but we should be okay.”

Bats checked him omni-tool for something, ignoring me. “Cool.”

I was more annoyed by his reluctance to share his lead than his constant teasing. “This case,” I said to him in the quiet of the elevator. “I’m pissed too. If you want help doing whatever it is you’ve scraped up from the trash unit, I’m in.”

“Would you unclench your cloaca for five minutes?” he replied. “Relax. I still haven’t told you everything I know.”

“About?”

As soon as I replied, he smirked again. “You met your lovely woman at a pension seminar in Bachjret-”

 _“T’Lori-”_ I said, exasperated, but Bats was still speaking.

“-overcome with your passion for frugality, you both reached for the same datapad on the benefits of recycling your own urine, and touched hands. It’s been a whirlwind romance ever since.”

“Thrice fuck this. _You know what I meant._ ”

Bats shrugged again, refusing to let it go. “Steamy trips to the fabricating depot, date night at the recycling units, shouting at kids in the park. You’re a lucky man, Krios.”

I pushed down my anger before I hit the elevator button again. “I am quite capable of removing data from a camera alone. Are you coming, or not?”

“You ain’t, that’s for sure. You got the aura of a man who does it once a month after the news report.”

 _“Bats.”_ One sharp word I said so fucking much since I made detective, a daily occurrence in my life.

Something in my tone finally made him stop. “Fine. But that’s my final answer, I swear I’ll stop now: Asari, Mother-age, female.”

“No more on the wager,” I said. I was still furious Bats refused to talk about the Deconnick case, deflecting my questions with usual brand of varren shit.

“You seem tired,” he said, as the elevator doors opened. “So many people with opinions about your love life, _oof_. Heard CSI wants a go too- Siks has sent over his bet.”

“I don’t give a fuck,” I told him, staring at the blinking lights of District 12.

“Really?” Bats made a show of studying his nails, watching me out of the corner of his eyes. “’Cause this seems like a solid six on the givin’ a fuck scale. Maybe a seven.”

“I’m not pissed about that.” This case, the fucking shooting, and now Spectres. Thrice fuck it all.

Bats mouthed an  _oh_ before he shrugged. “Yeah, I get it. I thought the wager finally got to you.”

As long as they left Ori alone, I could take the teasing. If they didn’t, they would see another side of me. “Why don’t you tell me what you’ve found out the Deconnick?” I asked, finally looking at him. “Socmahal is our main suspect. We both know he knows something about the murder. So tell me.”

He rubbed a hand over his face before speaking. “We got politics now. If Hoorik finds out I’m going against her orders, there goes my career. But I might know someone who knows someone, you know?”

“So we don’t tell Hoorik.” There was a line I crossed with those words, we both knew it. “Let me help.”

“No. You’ve only been doing this for two years. Don’t be stupid.”

_-you can come to me, kid,’ he said, smiling. Bailey patted my arm once, and I-_

“I have alleys of my own to explore,” I said, refusing to name them. “Favours to call in.”

“What, some poor duct rat you lean on from time to time who might know Socmahal is an even bigger piece of shit? We need more than that,” he said, curling his lip. “Fuck knows what the Spectres want with that asshole. He’s a slave dealer- I know it, you know it. Just got to find proof.”

 _“Dra la’fa,”_ I said, a reflex habit.

 _Mouse._ Bats had a point about duct rats, just like my father had. I could visit him and-

_-he was ignored,’ he said, not answering my question. ‘The poor are everywhere on the Citadel, and see everything. His kind are invisible. I gave him chocolate.’ Father looked at me, so small now. ‘I never gave you-_

“Athame’s blessing to you too,” he said, snorting. “And?”

“You of all people should know what the nameless can see.”

His memory might not be perfect, but the tightness of T’Lori’s mouth told me he remembered, that he had seen enough victims to know that they had a voice too. “Had a cookie from a noodle bar tell me that once,” he said, pretending to smile. “Or was it from a vid? Who fuckin’ knows.”

“I want into whatever you have,” I told him. “Think about it.”

The squad we wanted was part of the Network Division; our work relied heavily on technology to solve murders, even if we were different departments. The camera in my pocket was a _maybe_ for our case and could be the evidence we needed to put away a killer; I could’ve hooked it up to my monitor myself, but there was always protocol to follow.

Our local crew comprised of two specialists, tucked away in an old prefab and waiting for a proper workshop to be built for them by C-Sec. CSI Sheesa'Xaalas nar Zeminy and CSI Tam Bolon -a volus who for some reason had earned the misnomer Timbit- both had a reputation for weird, but I found them harmless.

“Detective Krios,” said nar Zeminy, hiding the vid she was watching behind a dull spreadsheet. “Do you have an appointment?”

“Kahje-clan,” said Timbit after, breather clicking as he spoke. “And Thessia-clan too.”

“Yo,” said Bats, squinting at the endless monitors. “Shit, is that _Battle Maidens?_  Fuck yeah it is, 2110s is the good stuff. The reboots are terrible, am I right?”

Nar Zeminy expressed embarrassment, a feat in an enviro-suit. “Oh. I’m working my way through the highlights, there’re hundreds of years of shows- it’s very confusing.”

“The first is best, don’t bother with that reboot shit. I got the statue of Tar'saya in my apartment in her leather skin. Aeryis and Teela didn’t make it through the war- fell off the shelf when we moved.”

The sound of a badly animated asari enjoying her biotics too much filled the room, all via T'Lori's omni-tool. “She’s certainly active,” said Nar Zeminy. 

“Fuck yeah,” said Bats, lighting up in glee. “Look at her go. She’s my favourite.”

“You both done?” I asked blandly, blinking at them both. “We’re here for a reason.”

“Look out Zem, it’s the fun police,” said Bats, flicking me a rude gesture. “Give me your omni-ID and I can send you the good shit. Just ignore Krios, I do.”

I refused to dignify the situation with a reply, and instead pulled out the camera. “This needs unwrapping.” I placed it on their table, still sealed in plastic evidence wrap.

“A vid-feed. For a window, looks like,” said nar Zeminy, scanning it with her ‘tool. “This has Reaper tech in it, do you know?”

If it was mentioned a year ago I would’ve thrown the thing in the corner and run away, knowing we had exposed ourselves to radiation. But the market had changed while the universe turned; though the Council had made fiddling and building from salvaged Reapers a harsh crime, their parts still flooded the market, the eezo picked neat and clean by pirates in ways that baffled our techies.

“Ah?” I said, trying not to fidget. Bats had removed the device from the scene, and I assumed it was safe. Surely our uniforms would’ve warned us? They had built-in detectors for such things.

“Just the wiring, looks like.” In the glass of her helmet, I could see her bright eyes, keen and blinking. “We’re okay, radiation levels are normal. Why isn’t this in the delivery system?” she asked.

“Just hook it up for me and I can do the rest,” I said, sighing in relief. “I only need a monitor. Interviewing its owner in an hour, and I need some leverage.”

“Unorthodox,” said Timbit. “Hmm.”

“I’ll be quiet,” I replied. “You won’t know I’m here.”

I worked while Bats entertained himself with shitty vids, and I had to contend with the background noises of cartoon porn -sorry, animated _novels_ \- while he showed a disinterested nar Zeminy his favourite _Battle Maidens_ moments. “This one is the episode where she meets Teela for the first time and they fight in the swamp. Classic.”

“What is the point of you even coming?” I asked him. Timbit clicked his mouthpiece at Bats, as annoyed as I was.

“You’re better at this shit than I am, Memory Man,” Bats said, oblivious to the discomfort he created. I’m not sure why he called me a ‘nerd’ when he was enthusiastically reenacting which Maiden would last longer in a fight -at least, I assumed he meant fight, but who knew with T’Lori.

Bats got the hint when nar Zeminy turned away from him to work, and sat down beside me with a thump. “What you got, anyway?”

“Ty’gosh Wey had the data set to delete itself after a week, but-”

“Cute. But we only need the past 26 hours, surely? We can do the rest after.”

I shrugged. “Doesn’t hurt to check- we still have time to.”

“If you want to see a week’s worth of junkies bangin’ up his door, go ahead. Them old biddies said they saw an asari or human anyways.”

“We still check,” I replied, wondering if I had to pause the work to listen to him blather. “Could you not talk so much? I can’t hear both.”

“Get on with it, then.”

He lasted three minutes before he made a noise again, huffing loudly. “If you’re bored, you can get me a tea.”

“Fuck you, I got you a burrito. Just get us what we need, yeah?”

“Just for that you can watch the rest when I’m done,” I said, bristling at the order. “Last I heard, you didn’t make a DI.”

I was allowed to work in peace after that. At the rough death date CSI Siks gave us, a hooded figure went past the camera, too disguised to even narrow down a species. All I got was ‘vaguely female,’ but I was taught all species have a bias when it came to body shape, and even cops would read the familiar in aliens.

“Useful,” said Bats, glaring like it was somehow my fault it came up with nothing. “So useful.”

“Looks either Earth-clan or Thessia-clan,” said Timbit, standing by my shoulder. “We have gait technology to narrow things down. Leave it with me to process, but my instincts say the latter.”

“Is there anyway for you to improve the image?” I asked. “Just in case.”

Nar Zeminy laughed at the suggestion over her monitors. “You detectives seem to think we do such a thing on our lunch breaks for fun. It’s usually me cleaning each frame by hand, you know. I am not a _bush’eta_ armed with a magic brush.”

The idiom mangled our translators, but we got the gist. “But you are magic,” said Bats, smiling at her. “You’ll do it for me, right? You can be Teela to my Tar'saya.”

It was such a fumbling attempt at a pick-up line that I cringed. “Anyway,” I said, a shade too loud. “We have to go. Thank you both for letting us to invade your workspace, you’ve been very kind.”

As we left, I saw Bats wink at nar Zeminy. “She likes me,” he said. “She’ll do it for me as a favour. I just gave her 250 episodes of the best series in the universe, anyway.”

“Her mask must be fogged,” I replied.

Our omni-tools beeped simultaneously on the walk back, never a good sign. “Hoorik wants us in,” said Bats. “Meeting time.”

For once we weren’t the last to attend, and as soon as Patel arrived the meeting started.

“I’m sure you’ve all heard the news,” Hoorik said, getting to the point. She was still pissed about the Spectre gagging order, like we all were.

"Spooky Spectres," said Patel, wiggling his fingers. “Krios said.”

“Thank you, Patel,” she replied, narrowing her eyes at him. “They’ve been good enough to leave the case open, but their pet -sorry, one of our suspects- is off limit.”

“This Socmahal fellow must know something important,” asked Patel. “Any clue to what?”

“Informant maybe?” added Vitacus. “Maybe he’s being used for bait, and-”

“Whatever he does,” Hoorik said very loudly, “we are banned from even talking about, so let’s not. Do any of you have anything on Deconnick’s family?”

Vitacus spoke up before I could. “Been going over the court notes, and the custody case was nasty. Jannure has kidnapped her daughter once before, though Deconnick never pressed charges. She’s still contesting the court order regarding her visitation rights, Jannure wants full custody. I’ve issued a no-flight zone for anyone connected, and let customs know.”

Hoorik nodded, pleased. “Krios, your opinion on Jannure?”

I put my hands behind my back before speaking. “Messy, treated her belongings like trash. We were there when her daughter was visiting, Jannure was more upset about her leaving than she was about the death notification of her ex-bondmate. She was …rude to the childminder. A human named Ana, odd that she would be left in charge of an asari baby.”

_-Ana looked at the floor, hands worrying themselves in their sleeves, quiet and slow. ‘I’m not an anything, just Ana,’ she said. ‘And I’m not allowed to leave Seria alone with Mira- I mean, Ms. Jannure. It’s the rules-_

“If she’s a biotic, not really,” said Bats. “As long as they get the food they need, all good. Babies are weak anyway, can’t even lift a toy brick yet.”

I shrugged. Specialised childcare was still a foreign concept to me, despite my people’s affinity with biotics. It was still rare enough that the only person I knew who could was my Father, I never inheritated the ability. He used to make fireflies for me when I was child. He-

 _-light,’ I said, grabbing. I was frustrated, they were so close. I felt dada laugh and-_  

The squad were staring at me, expecting something else. “Ana was the only one I interviewed today who seemed bothered about Deconnick’s murder,” I said. “She was crying.”

Hoorik frowned at that, interested. “Hmm.” A pause, then she looked at us. “I think it might be time to search Deconnick’s apartment. The warrant will be slow without a solid reason.”

“We know his child still lives there with her minders,” said Vitacus. “It’s staffed by six people, three of which live there full time.”

It was always tricky to search a property that was lived in. We had to root out the inhabitants, or worse- work around them in complete silence while we did our jobs.

No one was comfortable doing it. “I must issue a warrant. It might be quicker to go through next-of-kin, perhaps if we ask his son?”

“They’re estranged,” I said.  _“Allegedly._ We’ve given him space before we reinterview him for an alibi. His son was upset too, but I read that as anger. His was not a happy childhood.”

“I’ll trust your judgment,” said Hoorik, nodding at me. I almost puffed my frill in pride, but nodded back instead. “It also seems that the autopsy will not be done for another six hours, so stop bothering CSI Siks for an update. We can wait on the warrant.”

“We’re just giving up?” asked Bats. “Just like that?”

“No, T’lori. We are not.”  Hoorik did not yell, but she was sharp enough in her reply for us to all straighten our backs. “This case won’t be solved in a day, no matter what. Patience, detectives. I know you have it in you.”

Bats clenched his fists so tightly I heard the armour squeak. “Ma’am,” he said, acknowledging the order.

“And no poking into Socmahal, no matter how tempting,” she said, looking at me now.

Did she know? Was it some special DI sense? “Yes ma’am,” I replied, back still straight.

“So. This is what I propose we do. We interview the young man we have in custody over his camera and see if remembers anything about the night of the murder. Alliance is still quiet about Deconnick’s service history. I have emailed my… contact with them,” she said, wincing at the word. I filed the reaction away, curious. “She has not got back to me, but I know she is away on tour.”

“I can try my old gang,” said Patel. “An old squadmate might have an access code or three.”

Hoorik nodded. There was always an Alliance connection for the humans who worked C-Sec, an inescapable bond. “Nothing trouble-making, please. This case is political enough.” She looked at us, measuring something. “T’Lori, I want you to check Deconnick’s office for me. Apparently, he rented a space in the Industrial District. Take Vitacus with you.”

“Ma’am,” they replied, nodding.

“Krios, you’re with me for the interview. You’ve already made contact with Mr. Wey- see how he’ll react to our questions. Pick him up, I’ve cleared a room for us.” She left us without another word.

I made my way to the custody cells, lost in thought. Hoorik might not want me looking into Socmahal’s connections, but Bats was still angry enough to defy a direct order.

I knew if I helped him, I would be walking towards a different kind of C-Sec. It was a deceptively easy path to take, but would I really risk my career over this thrice-fucked case? Could I look the other way?

_-the gun shook in my hands. Tallid begs for his life on on his knees, and I look up to see-_

The ghost of a punch throbbed on my jaw again, and I scowled. I worked hard not to be the sad runaway with my father’s shuriken in my pocket, even with the help. I knew wasn’t _him,_ but could I be-

_-this is how is goes around here,’ said Bailey. ‘Don’t give me that look, boy. Greased palms kept you out of jail. Sometimes you look the other way so things can float up later-_

I worked with many good cops- our squad was full of them. But the system we believed in let Socmahal go, and we couldn’t do a thing about it.

_Yet._


	6. History Repeating

I couldn’t collect Ty’gosh quickly for his interview, much to Hoorik’s annoyance. Instead I waited by the entrance of the custody cells, leaning on the glass booth in a Gods damn queue while Sergeant Phalia got him ready for transfer upstairs.

“No rush,” I told her, even though there was. The place was busier than usual thanks to the gang shooting. Phalia seemed flustered by the extra work, and rubbed at her wrist in between typing out the custody orders.

She kept on doing it seemingly every other word now, a nervous gesture. “This damn scar,” she said, forcing a smile when I noticed. “Bothers me from time to time.”

I knew what it was when she moved her arm away. The mottled marks were more noticeable on turians, especially those that couldn’t afford the cosmetic grafts. Phalia had escaped and survived a Reaper indoctrination camp, one of the lucky few. Those marks were where she had cut out a control chip, a thing grafted deep under her skin.

They were painful to remove, even if they were small. The chip was programmed to seek out a main artery and left a spiderweb of wires in its wake.

I knew she always wore a remembrance pin on her uniform, an oval with four lines through it. I looked at it now, subconsciously. It was the symbol of the camp survivors, a simplified version of a chip broken into pieces.

I had assumed she wore it out of respect like she did the numerous other tokens on her hardsuit-  not that she had personally lived through Hell.

_-they processed them into piles,’ Oriana said, looking away. ‘I was lucky, Lawson kept me away from the factory. That’s what they called it, like we were things-_

“Sergeant-” I started to say. It was a secret she had covered up for two years I had worked with her, hidden in her gloves. “Phalia. I’m sorry.”

“What for, a scar? Nothing a bit of gel won’t fix, it’s not that bad. I’m still standing.”

“So am I,”  I said. There was nothing else I could say that would make sense, and leaned back on the glass again. _Sorry you went to the Depths of Hell and back_ seemed a hollow response, all words were.

“Do you know, that’s all we can ask for sometimes,” she said. “Standing is enough.”

“We’re still here.”

Phalia smiled brightly at me, a genuine thing. “That we are, detective. Let’s get you your witness, though watch out- his Legal Aid rep was with him awhile, you’re in for a fight.”

It was my fault he had one to begin with. “Ah. My thanks for the warning.”  

A glove was back on her hand, the scar covered up again. Phalia would talk with an optimism about everything if you let her: her children, a clawball game, even the perps we brought in. She was our most cheerful member of the precinct, despite it all, and I saluted her as I transferred a surprisingly docile Ty’gosh to his interview.

It took half an hour to crack most species in a room like this. Even those blessed with strong memories fold in the amount of time it takes your average suspect –sorry, I meant witness– to misremember the details of the lies they told us, all before we ask about the serious things we needed to know.  
  
But a good lawyer could talk circles around our questions in that half an hour, all the while their client exercised their right to remain silent- and we had to deal with the consequence.  
  
We found drugs in Ty’gosh Wey’s home. He even had minute fragments of hallex stuck on his sleeve when we arrested him. All of it added up to an amount C-Sec totalled beyond a personal use, and thanks to the recorded evidence of him dealing by his door, things weren’t looking good for Ty’gosh; especially since it was his own damn camera that got him.

A seventeen-year-old boy now had several charges to his name with 'intent' and 'supply' blinking in orange on his file, and we had to charge him. We could’ve kept Ty’gosh by himself in the cells to stew until our next shift, but since the debacle of both the Alliance and Spectres gagging our case, he became important.  
  
Hoorik had bumped the interview up as soon as she was able. Ty’gosh crossed his arms and glared at her across the table, four eyes blinking in contempt at his arrest. “Ask your questions,” he said. “She’ll answer for me.”  
  
Ty’gosh had a young human advocate from the local Legal Aid firm at his side, mirroring his disgust. “I suggest you remain silent,” she told him. “Shall we get this over with?” she asked us, looking our way. “I’m Christina Nguyen, Mr. Wey’s representative today.”  
  
Christina’s grey eyes narrowed at me when she introduced herself, and Oriana’s brighter blues flashed in my memory, an intruding thought. “I’m DI Hoorik, the detective in charge of this case. This is my colleague, Detective Krios,” replied Hoorik, smiling at her.  
  
“I’ve seen the charges. They’re ridiculous,” she replied, while her client tried to hide a grin.  
  
“But there is evidence,” I said. “And laws have been broken.” You always have to be careful around legal aid solicitors. Not only do they spend more time in C-Sec interview rooms than most, but they’re usually pissed as their clients -mostly idiots- often went hand in hand with the Council cutting their legal aid budget.  
  
Still, one way or another Ty’gosh was going to be processed through the Citadel’s Court process. He was a young batarian male, and for a petty drug dealer, somehow this was his first offence. If Ty’gosh pleaded guilty there was a chance he could be tried as a juvenile -a strange grey area of law a good advocate could bend into just months of punishment- rather than the years he faced.  
  
Hoorik’s strategy was simple. She threatened to add him to the suspect pool for Gary Deconnick’s homicide, the holos of Ty’gosh’s bagged hallex, red sand, and E-41s lined up in neat squares in front of him. “The drugs that killed him came from the same batch in your home,” she said. “And that puts you in the frame for manslaughter—”  
  
And that was as far as we got before the solicitor objected. “Are you serious?” she said, disgusted. “You’re going to go with this? Just because he died on the same street doesn’t mean there’s a connection. Where’s the autopsy report?”  
  
There wasn’t one, obviously. Even if CSI Siks initial report at the scene was correct and in Nguyen’s hands, she would still object. Deconnick died of a heart attack -though in a suspicious circumstance, thanks to his bound hands- and that meant Hoorik’s manslaughter charge would disintegrate on the stand in seconds.  
  
We had no choice but to wind the interview down a different route. Tygosh had the smarts to keep his fucking mouth shut due to Nguyen’s sharp answers, and I could see Hoorik was waiting for a moment to stop it. “Could we have a word outside?” she asked.  
  
“I won’t be bribed,” Nguyen said, watching the door close on Ty’gosh.  
  
“Excellent,” I replied. “I’m not sure if a cup of tea counts, but the canteen isn’t so bad- if you can cope with the tinge of chlorine to it.”  
  
“Make it a coffee and you got ten minutes. I know you both want to talk about something.”  
  
“Maybe we could meet in the middle,” said Hoorik, once we were all seated in a quiet corner of the canteen. “I don't want your client for this, but it's a high profile case and he will take the fall. Spectres are involved, so are the Alliance- Deconnick’s in the middle of a political situation. It’s not looking good for Ty’gosh.”  
  
Nguyen looked at her over her cup; I could see the threat of Spectres annoyed her as it did us. “You have nothing. All you have is evidence he dealt drugs, nothing else.”  
  
I blew on my tea before I took a sip. “Any magistrate’s review team is just going come to the same conclusions we have,” I said, which was the truth. Batarian, poor, single male: Ty’gosh would be shoved into the system and hard; it didn’t matter if his connection to Deconnick was rail thin.  
  
“What do you want,” said Nguyen, sighing now. “I know you want an angle to something.”  
  
Hoorik smiled. “Two witnesses put either an asari or a human at the scene of the crime, walking towards your client’s home. If he was willing to cooperate and tell us exactly who they are, and what he sold them, perhaps the magistrates would be lenient.”  
  
“I'm not going to have him admit to that,” she said. “Even if it is true.” There was a pause, and she tried her coffee again. “I need a bigger bait.”  
  
“Why don't you ask him in confidence if he can help us,” I said. “Because if there's somebody else, not only will he be volunteering vital information to C-Sec, but he'll be making sure somebody else steps into the frame for the homicide.”  
  
I could tell she was doubtful. She left us to finish our drinks as she took her own back to Ty’gosh alone, and I looked at Hoorik. “Think she took it?” I asked, swilling my tea around.  
  
“I do,” she replied, drinking her coffee slowly. “We’ll be back in there soon.”  
  
Hoorik’s gamble worked. We went back to the interview to discover that Ty’gosh had sold something to a human that night, he suddenly remembered- now that he thought about it, of course. “She took one look at the camera and made me go to her at the end of the street,” he said. “Man, why do I have a camera? It was for my security, you know? You can never be too careful in the Rookeries.”  
  
I twitched my mouth to stop a smile before I asked another question. “Did she have a name?” I only mentioned it for the record; I doubted they exchanged barely three words, but I still had to establish something.  
  
“Don't be stupid, _cop,”_ said Ty’gosh, spitting out the word. At least he didn’t call me a cunt this time. “I never ask them anything but what they want and how they’re paying.”  
  
“How did she pay?” asked Hoorik. There was a money trail somewhere, and we wanted it.  
  
“With credits. Burner ‘tool, looked like. You guys got mine in your lockup, turian bitch took it off me. Got my dick pics too. You’re welcome,” he said, leering at Hoorik.  
  
“Enough of that,” I said. “What did she look like, this human?”  
  
“I don't know.” Ty’gosh made expanding gestures in front of him, then looked at Hoorik’s own chest. “You know. They were tight. Firm, even.”  
  
“Light skinned, or dark? Or brown like me?” asked Hoorik, still ignoring the blatant sleaze.    
  
“Maybe.”  
  
“Maybe?” I said.  
  
“Maybe tanned? Whatever man. I really wasn't looking at her face.”  
  
At least our mysterious person had a definite species, but I would have to confirm with ‘the old biddies’ as Bats called them one last time to check; their witness statement needed clarifying.  
  
“Getting somewhere,” said Hoorik, once we finished the interview. We had charged Ty’gosh with drug dealing but made a note that he was ever so helpful to C-Sec’s enquiries in the system, and both his camera and statement would help put away a killer. “Perhaps we can close this without politics disturbing our case.”  
  
It was a big perhaps. “Socmahal has several human women in his employ that are, ah-” I repeated Tygosh’s crass gesture, annoyed I had to. “There were three working at his club when T’Lori and I interviewed him earlier.”  
  
I was given a look. “Krios, I know you are a sensible man,” she said. “So I suggest you go be sensible at your desk, quietly. Tygosh Wey’s omni-tool records need going over with that fine memory of yours. That should keep you motivated for an hour or so.”  
  
Gods damn my blunt tongue, thrice fuck it. “Yes, ma’am.”  
  
“Do let me know what you found.”  
  
“Yes, ma’am.”  
  
Omni-tools were cheap enough now to be changed weekly, and even biometric readings could be faked if you knew how. But Ty’gosh was a dealer dumb enough to keep his ‘tool organised, with lists of his customers colour coded in his Extranet storage.

I’m sure it was done with a pinpoint tidiness that would make an accountant cry with joy, but it only strengthened our charges. Sometimes criminals really made it easy for us, short of a clear confession.

The human Ty’gosh saw last night was listed in purple under ‘ _Great Tits,’_ a misnomer that reminded me of T’lori’s obsession. I never understood bosom, to his bafflement. I was dutifully trained by my human girlfriend to find hers sexual, but they still perplexed me.

 _-Ori yanked at the cups of her bra, pulling the thing down to touch herself. I looked up from between her legs and-_  
  
“The fuck you thinking of?” asked Bats, lobbing a wrapper at me as he came back into the incident room. “You look like someone shit in your hallway again.”  
  
Whatever he threw hit my face and bounced off with a clatter. “Gods thrice fuck it. Why can’t you just pass things normally?”  
  
“Ain’t my fault you can’t catch worth a damn.”  
  
“We went to T’sarlis!” said Vitacus, beaming down at me as I picked up the wayward candy. I had to crane my neck to meet him in the eye, rubbing the back of it as it clicked. “We were close, and T’Lori said we should get you a drink too. I knew you wanted to try one.”  
  
I didn’t say those words exactly, but I humoured the gesture. “Does this contain urine?” I asked, recounting his story back to him.  
  
Vitacus at least got the reference. “Nope. But hey, you can piss in it after if you like. Knock yourself out, there’s plenty of room.”  
  
“I’ll take this to go,” I said, putting my jacket back on with a flick. “I have to see my omni-tool specialist. Check CSES, there’s progress on the Deconnick case.” It was pointless tracing a burner ‘tool, but I would still try.  
  
He frowned, browplates creased together. “Specialist? Do you mean the Tech Squad?”  
  
Bats looked up from his monitor. “He means some shady little shit he speaks to near the Walkway, that’s what he means. We all got one.”  
  
He was right, of course. If anyone could get data of an omni-tool faster than the Suit Squad, it was Mouse. “Good hunting,” I said.   
  
My cruiser purred along Zakera’s highway, the skylines packed with X-3Ms and private shuttles. I wondered if I would regret going to the Walkway as I moved with the traffic; I only knew Mouse in passing, but even a loose connection was enough to feel the sharp kick of obligation.  
  
_-you’re Thane’s son? Why do you have a picture of me? I don’t unders-_  
  
He ran a VI store that unlocked omni-tools on the side, and I’d used his skills for an older case that put away a rapist. Nothing Mouse showed me was technically illegal, but I knew stolen ‘tools went through his store to be scrubbed clean. I guessed he even ran a fake-ID service on the side but never told his old C-Sec friend; I wondered how good he was at it.  
  
Every working cop had friends like Mouse, no matter where you came from. If you were really unlucky they were your relation, and if you were a complete bastard you could cut them out, all for the sake of career.  
  
I still saw him, I wasn’t that cold. I suppose Mouse could be a relation of mine, as warped as it sounds. He was the boy my father used when his wetwork brought him to the Wards and was abandoned just as I was when he had enough.  
  
_-he was kind, you know? No one was ever kind to me. He gave us food. Candy, sometimes-_  
  
What I saw now was a mirror of what I could have become, if I pulled the trigger that day. Not that Mouse was a hitman, but he still had a foot in the underworld, and just enough connections to implement me with something career destroying should I let it.  
  
So we met a few times a year at arm’s length, always on my terms. I even slipped him credits once for what he said was rent money. I didn’t believe it for one eyeblink, but wired it over anyway; Gods know what it funded.  
  
“Kolyat!” he said, seeing me. Mouse grinned, then took one look at my uniform and cleared his throat. “Are you on duty, man?”  
  
“Kind of,” I replied. “I need help with an omni-tool.”  
  
“Oh.” His face fell and I felt like a bastard. “Cool, yeah. I can help. Just let me close the store.”  
  
I offered him something out of guilt, that sharp kick of obligation pinching my stomach again. “Do you want to get a drink? Perhaps a meal?”  
  
“That would be great,” he said, smiling again. “Is C-Sec paying?”  
  
“It could,” I replied, watching him activate the shutters of his storefront with a wave of his ‘tool.  
  
“I know a place then. It’s not far.” I walked beside him as he led me towards the Citadel’s _Sultan_ , a human restaurant that smelled of cooking meat and grease. A salarian muttered something around a cigarette by the doorway, following us in as we entered his workplace.  
  
Another worker turned to face us, this time human. “Yes boss, what can I get you?” Once he realised Mouse was with us, he pointed a finger. “You pay,” said the man, looking at Mouse with a glare. “No charity.”  
  
The salarian sidled around me to get to the counter, the stench of his cigarette wafting past. “He owes us 23 credits,” he added. “All in all. And you give him extra when you think I’m not looking.”  
  
“Shut it, you. No more, I am closed to scoundrels.”  
  
“C-Sec is paying,” said Mouse. “Come on, Mehmet. You do the best döner in all of the Citadel. Better than those guys on Bachjret.”  
  
Mehmet had facial hair on his lip so thick I struggled to see his mouth move, and repressed a shudder. “They’re shit,” he said. “They do not even make their sauce. You must make your own sauce!”  
  
I sighed and pulled my jacket open to show my uniform, bored of the conversation. “Get him what he wants, I’m good for credits.”  
  
Everything looked unsanitary, but Mouse almost vibrated with excitement when he placed his order. “It’s the best,” he said. “You wanna try?”  
  
“I’ve had two lunches so far. I’m fine.”  
  
“Two? Man, they feed you good in C-Sec. I should join.”  
  
“Why don’t you?”  
  
He grinned, and we both knew the answer. A record of dodgy VIs, shoplifting, and loitering, mainly.  “Maybe later.”  
  
There seemed to be an unsaid rule not to talk about what I wanted him for, at least not yet. The pair of us would pretend to be friends and I let myself enjoy it, even trying some of his greasy food when he offered.  
  
“I saw you last week,” he said. “I didn’t say hi, you looked busy. Was with a real pretty girl, though. You kissed her on the cheek when you thought no one was looking.”  
  
How did Mouse find out when a team of fucking detectives couldn’t? I had talked to my squad every day for the past year, and even Bats was still clueless of Oriana’s existence, despite his useless wager. “Oh?”  
  
My face must’ve shown something because he looked guilty that he knew. “I saw you out by that fancy food hall in the Upper Wards, is all. She’s real classy. I’m happy for you, Krios.”  
  
“I… thank you.” It was a life a light year away from here by the neons and the dirt of the Walkway; I had followed Ori around the store and muttered about the expensive jars of artisan honey and saute sauces, but let her buy something anyway.  
  
Another stab of obligation wrenched my gut, and I cleared my throat. “And you? Are you still with that turian, the-”  
  
“What, Adi? Hah, no. God no. We split a year ago, Kol. Jeez.”  
  
“Ah, sorry.”  
  
“I’m not,” he said. “He was an asshole. Wanted me to run off to some dump in the Terminus with him, said he had the credits for it. Total waste of my time.”

I checked my omni-tool at his words. Barely an hour had passed; I had two hours until my shift was over, and Mouse still hadn’t looked at the reason I was here. “I got a favour to ask,” I said.  
  
He glanced away, face unreadable. “I know man. We can go back to my store.”  
  
Ty’gosh Wey’s omni-tool sat heavy in my jacket, still in its evidence bag. The Suit Squad could’ve pulled the thing apart and traced the caller-IDs for me, but Mouse had different methods and would recognise the ever-changing codes and techniques of burner ‘tools faster than they could.  
  
“This belonged to a drug dealer,” I said, sliding it through the bars of his workshop. He had an area cordoned off from the main store, safely away from his customers.  
  
I backed off to let him look and activated a nearby VI with a graze. “I’m Commander Shepard, and I saved the Galaxy,” it said, smiling with the vacant glassy stare of a VI. “What did you do?”  
  
“Thrice fuck it,” I said, sidestepping the thing. “Really? You still sell this shit?”  
  
“Hey man, Shep-VIs have paid my rent for years, now. The porn versions still go for top credit. The good ones, anyway.”  
  
The thought of such a thing made me shudder. I rubbed the spot on my jaw where Shepard hit me, the ghost of her fist lingering still. “I didn’t need to know that. Please don’t sell them. Come on, Mouse.”  
  
“Hey, I’ve given up on porn-VIs anyway. The market crashed years ago.”

“Good,” I said. Porn-bots were _creepy._

“You still see her? Shepard, I mean.” It was the eternal question I was always asked when someone knew about my connection. There was an unsaid agreement that Shepard’s flock kept quiet about their association, and left her alone to recover in peace. 

I was surprised to discover she was only human when I met her after the war. Audrey Shepard was my father’s… Ah. I still stumbled on what to call her.  Was girlfriend even the right word? Father worshipped his _siha_ regardless, even when they were apart. He had placed the poor woman on a pedestal, devout as any priest.  
  
_-I was very fond of your father,’ Shepard said, clearing her throat. ‘He meant a lot to me-_  
  
Gods, but my father was a weird man. “Ah, no,” I said to Mouse. “Shepard leaves me alone, donates to the Keprals Foundation from time to time. She keeps herself off the Citadel, too much attention here.”  
  
He didn’t have to know that I was invited to one of her parties; I even met Oriana there. “Shame,” he said, but by his look, I knew he didn’t believe a word I just said. “She gave me money. I’ll never forget that.”  
  
“You don’t.”  
  
In the silence, I could see he wanted to ask more, but let the subject drop. “Anyway, this omni-tool? A lot of pics of your guy’s tiny penis if you want to see. _A lot.”_  
  
“I’ll pass.”  
  
Mouse cocked his head and squinted at the interface. “Not bad for a batarian though.”  
  
“He’s seventeen,” I said, adjusting my sleeves with a tug.  
  
“Alrighty then,” said Mouse, closing it with a swipe. “You just want the call list, or...?”  
  
“I’m interested in his credit transactions, one listed as _‘Great Tits.’_ She’s a murder suspect.”  
  
Not that it meant a thing to him. Mouse shrugged, then pulled up his coding windows. “Okay, give me a moment.” It took him seconds, and I took a fresh pinch of _se’aus_ while he showed me. “The transfer was made from a burner, and I know who sells this kind, too. Don’t mean a thing though, they’re easy to scrub. I get them in my store too.”  
  
It was a messy lead for this thrice fucked case, but I still took it with open arms. “Mouse, you’re a genius.”  
  
He beamed at me and I saw the shadow of the kid he once was, a memory overlapping with the real thing. “Right? That’s what I’m saying. I’m not appreciated around here.”  
  
“So who sells them?” I asked.  
  
He looked in two minds to tell me, sliding the ‘tool back into the evidence bag. “If they find out around here I’m telling you anything, I’m fucked. I do have a reputation. A shitty one, but still.”  
  
I was not a complete bastard, even though I felt like one. “Just tell me what you can. I don’t mind.”  
  
Mouse tapped his face with his hands, a drell’s gesture for tired. “Alright. You can start with the pawn shops in Shin Akiba, but I didn’t say anything. The ones near the arcade with all the clawball machines. If I was talking, obviously.”  
  
_-neons from the arcade illuminated her face as she laughed, giddy from one kiss. ‘I don’t feel bad,’ she said. ‘It’s just that the lights are brighter, that’s all-_  
  
“Thank you,” I told him. I still couldn’t leave him without asking about the thing I shouldn’t, even though Hoorik would have my balls in a vice if she knew. “What do you know about Gherlak Socmahal?”  
  
“Runs _Goronak’s._ I don’t deal with him,” he said. I hoped he told me the truth, but he looked away to say it. Mouse knew something but wasn’t telling me. “Why you asking?”  
  
“He’s a piece of shit,” I said. “It’s good that you don’t.”

“Well, yeah. Thinks he’s this big hot shot Terminus gangster, but he was born in the Lower Wards and dumped in the gutter just like the rest of us. Knew him back when I used to crawl around the ducts. The stories I hear about how he treats his workers ain’t good.”

_-that drell was worth his wage,’ Socmahal replied, baiting me. ‘Felt like the couch was being sucked through me when he started-_

“Slavery?” I asked, curious. “I saw plenty of quiet workers at his club.”

“Maybe, probably. Slave marks are easy to scrub too, if you know how. Last I heard he used his restaurants to launder money, but that club of his? That’s his baby, you ain’t gonna find anything there.”

Socmahal had hinted as much, but it was still an interesting info drop.  “Is his allianced with the big three?”

Mouse knew who I meant: The Purified, Defiance and Arachnids, the gangs that ran the Lower Wards. A cell of the latter were in our custody locked up, the former dead in their wake.

“From what I hear he’s pissed off the Defiance guys,” said Mouse. “Something about extending into their turf.”

I wondered if Spectre authority extended itself to gang warfare. Would they stoop so low to defend someone like Socmahal and fight his battles? “They always overextend,” I said. “His type do.”

As I made my excuses to leave, Mouse pulled me back. “Krios? Don’t be a stranger. I like seeing you, always have.”

This time guilt hit me so hard it felt like my stomach had flipped. “It has been good to see you too,” I said. “I’m free in two weeks, we can go out for a proper meal. With a table and everything.”  
  
I wondered if I would follow through on that. Probably not, if I was honest with myself. Work always sucked most of my time away, and Oriana claimed the rest.

When I got back to the precinct Bats nodded at me, silently gesturing to the supply closet off from the incident room.

“I’m going to speak to my contact tonight,” he said, as soon as the door was closed. “You ain’t coming, before you ask.”

I looked away. “Fine. I will check mine.”

“I’ll call you in the morning before work,” he replied. “Don’t be offended, she ain’t gonna talk if you’re there. ‘Sides, I got you some data to play with; Deconnick’s office had some shit just lying around. CSI says we can look.”

“Why is always _me_ that has to do the Gods damn data work?” I replied.

“Quit bitching. You’re good at it.”

Vitacus pretended not to notice we had disappeared, eyes on his own monitor. “I’m going to talk to Deconnick’s lawyer tomorrow,” he said. “If I can nail the bugger down, he’s out of office a lot.”

I nodded. “I’ll come with you, I’m good with lawyers.”

He chuckled, amused. “I never have a problem with them myself. We’re all on the same line, just in different uniforms.”

Deconnick’s monitor sat on my desk, an unspoken agreement that I should start working on the contents. What was it always me? “You’re welcome,” said Bats, tagging my shoulder. “I’m off. Going to check out Deconnick’s storage unit.”

“I’m gone too,” said Patel. “I started earlier than you all.”

Only me and Vitacus remained in the precinct, engrossed in our own data. Deconnick had a file of badly hidden human/asari porn labelled _Citadel Vacation_ in his storage _-_ it sat next to pictures of his daughter, her mother noticeably absent.

His finance accounts were a mess. Perhaps Ty’gosh Wey could give him pointers, considering how organised his drug dealings were. As I looked deeper, I wondered if it was deliberate subterfuge; household money funneled into one business, then split off into three other companies.

“Hmm.”

“That’s not a good noise,” said Vitacus.

“No.”

The incident room was quiet, and the night shift started to fill in. I recognised most of them; the sight of a day shift detective working alongside them was not uncommon.

Vitacus exhaled once, then stood up. “I need to go lift some weights,” he said. “All these court notes are making me blind. Take it easy, Krios.”

I was the only one of the day shift left working, but there still something not quite right about how opaque Deconnick’s finances were. It was an all too familiar method; when you dealt with dirty money, obscurity mattered.

A shadow flickered across my screens, and I looked up. “It’s now two hours over the end of your shift,” said Hoorik, sitting on my desk.

“I am aware of the time,” I replied. “Just sifting through the data T’Lori found at Deconnick’s office. A lot of shell companies, most of them empty. He was moving money around for a reason, I just have to find it.”

There was a quiet pause as Hoorik looked down at me, and I knew a reprimand was coming. “There will always be cases like this,” she said. “You cannot let them get to you.”

I refused to look at her, unsure what to say; Hoorik was in a clear lecturing mood, and I had to listen. “Something isn’t right,” I replied.

“Ah, justice. Thrilling.” She snorted once, amused. “Your shift is over. C-Sec won’t pay unofficial overtime, you know this.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Don’t _‘yes ma’am_ ’ me, you need a break. It has been nice to see you so eager to go home to your hypothetical human girl,” she said.

Hoorik so far was the closest in the wager, and I looked away. “If you say so, ma’am.”

“I do, but it doesn’t matter what they are. Everyone should understand that feeling.”

I frowned, annoyed at her words. Did I wear my emotions pinned to my chest, so gaudy for others to read?

_-I ran from work to meet her, already late. I would meet her dockside when her ship came in, and-_

I could tell my boss what I couldn’t tell Bats. “I am content. Outside of my work, I mean.”

“An underused word, in my opinion,” she replied, chuckling. “Content suits you. But there is a word in my mother’s language that translators always fail to catch the true meaning of, one that I think suits the feeling better. _Lagom_ \- just the right amount of everything. Not too little, not too much.”

“I know of it,” I said, then regretted I did; it gave her a clue into Oriana’s existence, and Hoorik had yet to make a bet.

“I find not many outside the country truly understand the heart of the word, though. It is a thing that strikes the very core of your existence; to leave the universe a better a place when you go by the life you left behind.”

_-the loaded pistol was still in my hand. ‘I've taken many bad things out of the world. You're the only good thing I ever-_

The words came before I could stop them, the memory overlapping with my reply. “I understand. I really do.”

_-killing bad people is not the same as doing good, Kolyat-_

Gods curse this memory, always there to remind myself of the worst of me. Was arresting bad people any better, I wonder? Would my father be proud of my life in C-Sec? At least it wasn’t murder.

“I don’t think you do,” she said. “You need a break, I know I do. We are not machines, Krios. Why are you still here really?”

I didn’t know how to answer but tried anyway. “Because-”

Because Socmahal knew something. That both the Spectres and the Alliance were trampling us underfoot in their need for silence, even though he was a piece of shit slave dealer. That he would walk free if we didn’t do anything about it, even if the murder victim seemed an odious slime too.

 _“Go_ , Krios,” she said, firmly now. “This is now an order. This case will still be here tomorrow. There’s not a lot for us to do but wait for CSI, and for my Alliance contact to get back to me.”

I checked the time. I already told Ori I would be late an hour ago. We would be meeting now if I hadn’t been so obsessed with the Deconnick case, and I closed my monitor screens with a swipe. “I’ll see you in 16 hours.”

I had a home to go to.


	7. Melody

Even a beat cop on the Upper Wards needed space from work. There was always a need to disconnect the murderers and thieves from our home life, even if some of us had perfect memories.

T’Lori found his in a shot glass, Patel on one of his long walks through the park. I left the incident room without a backward glance and headed to mine. I forced myself to escape slavers, gang brawls, and Spectres the only way I knew how, even though my feet were sore.

I would run. 

I put in 2k on the treadmills at the precinct’s gym, forcing my anger out with every step. Nothing record-breaking, but it at least it cleared my head. For once they had installed new holo-programs; I sprinted along the beaches of Palaven to an endless sunset, each metre pushing work from my mind.

There was one last thing to do, even if the run cleared my head. 

_ -I have alleys of my own to explore,’ I told T’Lori, refusing to name them. ‘Favours to call in- _

I dialled Bailey’s personal omni-tool in the changing room, nervous he would answer. Why was I doing this? Either he would scrape something up from under the table, or tell me to suck it up.

It was a relief when I got automated response instead. “Hey. This is Bailey. You know what to do after the beep.”

Only Bailey would have a Godsdamn voice mail system in the 2190s. I left a message via text instead: _ I need your help with a case. Have ghosts in our lock up.  _ It was vague, but I had no idea who was reading.  

He was not my direct superior, but Bailey still thought of himself as my mentor. It was a relationship C-Sec took seriously thanks to the turian influence to our infrastructure, but his methods were harder than my own.

Bailey wanted to 'help' with my career, and hinted as much in our lost conversation. He told me I could go far, if I wanted, but it felt wrong to accept it from  _ him. _

Why was I still thinking about this? I already delayed my evening with Oriana, what was so special about this case that-

_ -you need a break, I know I do. We are not machines, Krios. Why are you still here- _

Maybe Hoorik was right. I was done with it all for the evening, no more. Work would not intrude on the hours I had with Ori; she was visiting a colony for work tomorrow, a project reaching the end of its goals.

_ -here’s where the clinic will be,’ she said, standing in the centre of the projection. Orange lines caught her face, and I knew I was smiling at her.  ‘It’s only small for now, but there’s room for growth. It’s going to be a good home for- _

The fucking trams were down again as I left, but I knew she was waiting for me. We had vague plans of something-

_ -her mouth on my neck as she- _

-well, that was a given, but I assumed we would at least share the meal I brought her first. The present was balanced on one knee while I watched buildings zip by in the taxi, hastily sealed in C-Sec plastic. Odd that a human liked salarian food so much, but she did.

I slung my overnight bag over my shoulder and lifted the barriers as soon as the X3M reached my destination. Ori’s apartment complex was smaller than mine but more secure, located in the higher levels of Zakera. My neighbourhood was in the Industrial District, but it felt more alive than here-  too much cold steel and glass for my tastes.

I nodded once at the middle-aged turian guard at the door and flashed my keycode from my omni-tool. “Hey man,” he said. “You’re C-Sec, right?” 

The stab vest and the Ward code usually gave me away, but I only came here in my civvies. Either Oriana had mentioned something, or he pegged me as a cop from the start. “Is there a problem?”

“Could be, could be nothing.” He spoke a rough Cipritine accent I was used to hearing at the precinct, from colleagues and criminals alike. “There was a break-in attempt last night,” he said. “Someone tried to get into the garbage units again.” 

The Council has decided to waste everyone’s time and made it a law that raiding garbage was a now a crime. “Did you call it in with the local constables?” I asked. 

This was not the jurisdiction of my precinct; I was also part of the Murder Squad, and we did not investigate common 604s. 

But this Oriana’s home- of course I’d look into it. “Yeah, someone came and looked this morning. Filled a report on the spot too.” 

“I’ll chase it up,” I said, though didn’t hold out much hope; I knew that report was shoved in the thank you for your time disposal unit all C-Sec officers kept for petty crime.

“It’s good you’re around, y’know,” he said. “Keeps the residents happy.”

I plastered on my best talking to the general public smile and nodded. “Glad I could help,” I replied. “I’m Detective Krios.”

“Yeah, I know- I read the access codes. Name’s Spevis. Your girlfriend, she’s Ms. Lee from the sixth floor, right? The one with the nice a- uh, attitude. Always got a smile for me. Brings doughnuts from her work for the crew. Great girl you got.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. I didn’t exactly want the doorman thinking about my girlfriend’s ass, especially while hired to protect the building.  “I’m running late. Thank you for telling me about the break-in attempt.”

Spevis proved even turians are capable of a shit eating grin. “Best not keep her waiting. Have a good night, sir.”

Both of us had the access to our apartments, but I buzzed the door anyway. It was a line neither of us could cross yet, even after a year together- we still asked for permission.  

Oriana answered as soon as my finger left the interface, still in her work clothes. “Aren’t you a surprise,” she said.  

I kept the present I had brought behind my back from her sight, waiting for the right moment. “I’m not sure how, but I can come back if it’s a bother.”

“Depends. What are you selling?” She leaned against the door frame and squinted at me. The fabric of her dress bunched in pleasing ways as she did, and I followed the lines of her curves shamelessly-  she might be alien, but some things were universal, as Spevis had proved. 

“My body, obviously,” I replied. “But the soul is up for negotiation.” For some reason, we were still out in the hallway. “Are you letting me in?”

Oriana pursed her lips, pretending to think about it. “Tough sell, I’ve already done my charitable deed for the day. A nice woman from the Galactic Red Cross doorstepped me earlier.”

I was mostly sure she was joking. “That’s illegal. And I didn’t realise seeing me was an act of charity, _ orishen. _ ”

“I do my part for the galaxy,” she replied, smiling at me. “Recycle and reuse. Make do and mend.”

We’d remain in her doorway and sass each other until the next apocalypse came if we could. “You might change your mind when you see what I have with me,” I said, giving in first.

I showed off the box of Ration Pack A3: Levo I had kept hidden. Sometimes there were perks to working at C-Sec, and Oriana seemed pleased with my haul. “Ooh! Spiced  _ mees’han  _ crickets. You know how to treat a girl.” 

“Glad to know I have my uses. Must I stand out here forever, Ori?”

“Like my own personal gargoyle,” she said, a hand on my cheek. The ration packs were duly stolen and tucked under her arm, and I was allowed to pass. “Do come in, Quasimodo.”

My translator glitched, as it always did with her. I didn’t know what she meant but assumed it was rude. “If you insist.”

In the Citadel homes were often transient things, and it took effort to make a place feel like one like one. Oriana’s apartment always made my scales itch, despite the warm welcome. 

The place felt like a storage unit- I’d been to homier crime labs. Though she had technically lived in this place for seven months now, boxes still lined the entrance; nothing had been moved from the front door.

I had to step over a crate to get into the hallway. “You’ve finally unpacked something,” I said, gesturing to the wall opposite the couch. Frames of holos were on show, a line of smiling human faces neat on a shelf.

Her reply was muffled; Ori dug into a bag by the door, not quite looking at me. “I can still surprise you. Shocking I know.”

The smile on her face was pinched and rigid as she stood up.  Ori was anxious about something, and whatever pleasure she had meeting me was masking a quiet stress.

“Bad day?” I asked, watching her carefully. 

A hand was placed on my frill as she walked past, a datapad in the other. “Nothing you’ve done, you’re a peach.” 

“I’m fruit?” I’ve been called worse.

A quick kiss was placed on my chin, an apology. “I’m sorry. It’s just work,” she said.

“I know the feeling.”

She tugged my bottom fin as her reply, and I used her touch as an excuse to pull her into my arms. “You do have your uses,” she replied, wrapping hers under my jacket.

It was nice to hold her. I could smell the soap in her hair, the lingering perfume of her skin. I closed my eyes and breathed her in, if only for a moment. “It is good to see you too, my  _ orishen.” _

We had to move eventually, fascinated as we were with standing in hallways. “You don’t have to do that,” she said, watching me take my boots off. “The shoe thing. You can leave them on, it’s no problem- I don’t mind.”

“But I do.” I paused in my strap loosening, frowning at her. “Did you know there was a break-in attempt? Your doorman said.”

“We all got an email,” she said.  “Don’t worry about it, it was only the garbage unit. Nothing was taken. We pay extra for security, part of the rent agreement.”

I would still check the system. “Hmm.”

She frowned at my reaction- Oriana would not be happy if I meddled. “And how is Fish?” she asked, changing the subject. “Will she pine for you while you're here?” 

Despite the fact the Gods damned thing bit her when they first met, Fish and my girlfriend had reached a peace treaty of sorts, whereby Fish mostly ignored her. “What do you think?” I said. “She has an automated food system and somewhere to sleep. I’m just the nuisance she lives with.”

“I know how she feels.” Nothing would stop Ori from befriending my cat, annoyed she was made to work for it. She had even sunk as low as bribery- vat-grown tuna was red sand to Fish. 

“Poor put-upon Ori,” I replied. “Poor put-upon me, actually. Abused by my cat, my work, _ you.” _

“Can’t catch a break,” she agreed. I finally stepped into her attempt at a living space. Oriana left me for the kitchen, rations in hand again. “You always do that, just like clockwork. Take off your boots and wiggle your toes.”

“A habit.” I could feel my muscles of my feet and calves throb in relief in their freedom, and sighed again.

I had a rough day too.

“Give me a moment.” I heard cupboard opening and closing as she put away the food. I realised I was standing on the edge of her living room like it was a crime scene- there was a reason she stayed at mine so much.

She seemed to live out of boxes and suitcases, even though she had been here six months; Ori was the only thing in the place that felt warm and welcoming. “They’re easy to exploit if you’re criminally minded,” I said, poking a dusty box labelled for the kitchen. “Routines I mean.” 

Thieves watched apartments and buildings to work out their target’s schedule, and murderers often knew when their victims would be alone-

_ -I follow him, Amonkira guides my feet. I knew my mark would separate from his friends.’ The memory passed in awkward silence. Why did he always speak them out loud? Too long alone with only his thoughts for company, a bad habit. Father caught my stare and rubs his brow, aware of my unsaid. ‘Ah. Apologies, Kolyat- _

A regular habit was dangerous. He made me understand that. 

“You would know all about that I suppose,” she said. Oriana had joined me again. I could see the stress line her face still, but she seemed amused by something. Probably me, it always was. 

“Part of the job,” I said, reaching for her hand. In her heels she could look me in the eye- I liked that she wore them, but I would never tell her since she teased me for asking about shoes during my lunch break. It was for the case, not-

_ -keep those on,’ I told her, pushing her against the wall. ‘I like the way they- _

-not yet, Gods dammit. 

“Are you criminally minded, Ms. Lee?” I said, letting the old memory fade. I had the real thing in front me after all. “Because I can-  _ mmph.” _

The lapels of my jacket were tugged and Oriana had kissed me thoroughly to shut me up. “Depends,” she said.

“On?”

She leaned back, my jacket taking the weight in a squeaking protest. I could taste her lipstick and wondered if I was wearing it. “Do you want me to be the death of you, Sere Krios?”

“No,” I replied, like the smart man I was. It’s hard to think of a snappy comeback after a long workday and your very warm, very soft girlfriend was pressed against you. Thoughts had a habit of disappearing into the ether.

“There are worse ways to go I suppose.” Oriana looped her arms around my neck. For some reason we were rocking, a fumbling dance to music no one else could hear. “A bit like a Mata Hari.”

The translator glitched again but I ignored it. Both my hands were on her ass before I knew what I was doing. I pulled her into me for another kiss, amused. “That a threat?” 

_ “La petite mort,”  _ she whispered into my ear. I knew what that one meant, at least. So much for food and conversation first, but I’d cope. “The best death. But later, if you’re good. I have to pack for my trip first.”

Oriana had wiggled herself out of my embrace with a gentle push for my troubles. I cleared my throat and watched her go, annoyed by the sudden tightness of my undersuit. “I’m always good,” I said, adjusting it with a tug.

“Must I dignify that with an answer?”

There was fun in the waiting. I could cope with it if she could.  “Do you want me to recount all the times I’ve been very good? I could tell you exactly what you said to me when I was.”

I was given a look. “You’re not as smooth as you think you are,” she replied. Her anxiety had returned like an unwanted guest, and I followed her gaze as she frowned at her empty suitcase.

“You want help with that?” I asked.

“There’s not a lot you can do. But once I’m done we’re free for dinner. Do you mind not going out? I’m a little tired.” 

_ -fuck, Krios,’ Bats said, putting another shot in my hands. ‘What do you even do in that apartment of yours, anyway? It ain’t healthy to stay in all the time- _

“Of course not.” I glared at the mound of clothes on the couch, her attempt at a wardrobe system. Shopping bags were shoved on top, and the contents of one alone were probably worth a month’s pay. “Just throw it all in,” I told her. “You’ll be fine. How do you even cope with all this anyway?” 

“I know where everything is,” she replied, digging into the pile. 

I disagreed with a chuff and was given another look. “Yes my  _ orishen, _ ” I told her. “Of course you do.”

Oriana knew I was waiting for her to open up. She paused in her packing, biting her lip before spoke. “I don’t know how long I’m going to be away this time,” she said. “Two weeks minimum, the colony is having problems with sourcing power. This has been dumped on my lap this afternoon, I’m sorry.”

I knew before we got together that her work would take her away. The Citadel was her base, but she spent a good quarter of the year on colonies, building them from the bottom up. Oriana found homes for the millions of displaced refugees and helped thousands on a daily basis- I only arrested them for loitering.

“Take as long as you need,” I replied. It was a lie, of course I wanted her close. A selfish thought, one for the Depths alone.

“It‘s exhausting. Our suppliers say we haven’t paid enough when I damn well know we have. Now they’re starting to ignore my emails and calls, and refuse to start building until we give them more credits.”

There was only so much standing around I could do. I picked up a -I think it was a dress, not entirely sure- and started to fold it neatly, refusing to roll it in a bundle like she had. “It will be fine,” I said. “Probably a mistake in their system somewhere, these things happen.”

“Do they really?” Her reply was cutting.

Perhaps my platitude was a touch dismissive. “Oriana,” I said, a hand on her back. “Is there anything I can do?”

She still flinched away from me. “No. Kol, I’m-” Ori started to say, but stopped when she pressed the palms of her hands into her eyes. Funny how some actions were easily understood across all species, and I pulled them away before she damaged something.

“You’ve had a shit day.” So had I, but I wouldn’t tell her that now.

“I signed off the contract,” she said, face tight with worry. “I’m the project manager. In two weeks two thousand people are expected to move into the colony, to find we have nothing at all for them but empty prefabs. No power means no enviro-filters. No enviro-filters means no food- rations only stretch so far.”

I traced a line on her palm, frowning. My first instinct was to make the tea, of course. It was the standard drell response to a crisis, ranging from scraped scales to the mass destruction of our people. “I know you,” I said. “You’ll fix it.”

“I’ll fix it?” 

“No other bastard will.” I kissed her once before letting it go. 

She snorted in disbelief at my response. “Best get on with it, then.” Ori exhaled once, and I could see the stress lift off as she almost touched her face again. “Is my makeup okay?”

I squinted at her. Purple lips, vaguely purple smudged stuff around the eyes. “Yes?”

“Good,” she said, though I had a feeling she wasn't talking about lipstick. Oriana has returned to her disorganised pile of laundry, anxiety coiled and neatly pushed inside again. “That’s- good.”

“Do you want me to do anything?” I knew the answer, but it was polite to ask.

“No. Shoo.”

“I’m shooed. Tea?”

“Please.” 

Tea was duly made and deposited, and I stared at her empty cupboards and worked out our evening. I was off duty for eighteen hours, lucky for us. We had a vague plan of combining our ration packs and vids, but that was all.

_ -sometimes you know when things are special,’ Mami said. She held the seashell in her palm- I had found it for her, just like I always did when we were on the beach. ‘But sometimes the things we used to do every day become favourite memories when we’re old, even if they seem boring at the- _

The memory pushed me to look at Oriana’s photos, the only things she had bothered to unpack with thought. An image of a toothy Ori between her parents took the centre stage placement of the frames, a plastic toy in her hand. “You were skinny,” I said, gesturing to it with my mug. “And your hair is longer here.”

“I’m not growing it out again,” she replied. “I like it short.”

Beside it was a picture of her college class, a mostly human group crammed behind a banner. The words  _ ‘Reapers Don’t Stop Us Graduating _ ’ were hastily slapped on what looked like a bed sheet. Oriana was in the middle, looking up at a male human I didn’t know.

The last I had seen via her omni-tool when we started seeing each other. Oriana with her sister, the pair of them with arms thrown around the other. I always thought Ori looked like she was hiding something in this one, looking away from the camera. 

Perhaps it was taken after Horizon- not a lot of smiles happened in Sanctuary. Ori had told me the story with all the dull recount of a shell-shocked witness, brushing off my comfort with a shrug.

_ -we’re still here,’ I told her. Sergeant Phalia smiled, her scars forgotten. ‘Do you know, that’s all we can ask for sometimes,’ she said. ‘Standing is enough- _

A small metal box on the shelf caught my eye, hidden behind the family portrait. It was a trinket that just about fit the palm of my hand. The boxy thing had the same ergonomic design the universe over, and my fingers found a crank instinctively and turned.

The metal gears whirled and tinkling music started. We had similar gadgets on Rakhana when we thrived, tributes for Gods at festivals. Out of the corner of my eye, Oriana stiffened- her reaction was curious. “Do you mind?” I asked, holding it up.

“Not at all.” She looked away, pushing the curtain of hair back from her face. I no longer found the stuff odd, but on occasion, her twitching eyelashes would remind me of insect legs.

The box played on, a simple tune meant for human ears. It needed another crank to continue, finally looping back to the point I heard before. I was unfamiliar with the tune- not that I listened to much music, but Oriana tried her hardest to educate me on her culture, even if her human orchestras sounded alike in my memories.

“What is it? The song, I mean.”

“My father made it for me,” she said, answering a question I never asked. “Old fashioned, isn’t it? Mum said he cut himself twice before it was finished. Needed medigel in the end.”

“The blood sacrifice was worth it. It’s lovely.” 

Oriana took the trinket gently from my hands, passing the thing in her own before she spoke. A forced smile was still plastered on her face, but I could see the fracture lines; whatever she said next would be a lie or a confession. “It was his song for me,” she said.

“It’s a nice tune.”

She tweaked my chin, then looked away. “He didn’t write it. It’s just a lullaby he sang for me when I was little. He said it was the only thing that stopped me crying.” Oriana sang her words along with the music box, though her voice cracked at the end. “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy when skies are gray-

_ -my name means sunshine,’ she said. ‘Well, “golden dawn,” anyway. Does yours mean anything? I know turians have a similar naming culture to humans, I- _

-your name,” I said. “It’s a song for your name.”

“That’s right.” The music had stopped just before the memory, the box quiet in her hand. I could see she itched to hide it somehow, and I held her hands in mine to still them. “And yours means ‘Beshma’s Messenger,’ because you were born near Beshma’s day,” she told me.

“You remembered.”

“Of course I did.” Her fingers pulled from mine. Oriana straightened nonexistent faults in the framed holos, frowning at nothing. “It’s just a silly nursery rhyme, that’s all. Parents sing it to their children-

_ -little children with little fins, run, run run,’ Mami sang, pinching the toes on my feet. ‘Here comes the cackoa beast- _

“Ah,” I said, pushing my mother’s song away. “We all have them. My favourite was about a giant swooping bird that ate small children. I don’t know why it was something you sang to a child, but it was.”

Oriana laughed, a fragile sound. She was one step away from breaking- memories of parents were often tricky to navigate. “That’s the thing, everyone remembers the chorus, the chorus is sweet- ‘you never know dear, how much I love you. Please don’t take my sunshine away.’” She had half sung the words again, her smile not reaching her eyes.

“That’s not terrible,” I replied. “Better than swooping birds.”

“But the rest is so terribly sad. Why did Dad sing it to me? ‘The other night dear, as I lay sleeping, I dreamed I held you in my arms. But when I awoke dear, I was mistaken, so I hung my head and-”

No more. I pulled her to me, breath caught in my lungs that she was hurting. “I’m sorry,  _ orishen.” _

The war took her father, just as it did mine. “Just a stupid song,” she said. Oriana’s voice caught, the words stopped. Her eyes were damp enough for tears now- they would come soon.

“It’s not.” I pulled her to me tighter before she could do anything else. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, choking the words around her grief. “This- it’s all just work, that’s all.”

The reaction was more than her job, but I let the lie pass. “No apologies for this,” I told her. “The music box is a good thing; your father made it for you. Good memories should be kept,  _ orishen _ . Like they are on the shelf, see? Look at these people. All good things.”

She was sobbing now. Oriana made a human noise of frustration, angered by her own emotion. “This is just work.” 

I hummed a sympathy thrum from my throat, the sound my mother had made when I cried as a child. “You sure about that?”

“Yes. Stop fussing, I’m-” I picked her up in my arms to the annoyance of my abused calves before she could say anything else. “Kolyat-!” 

One of her heeled shoes fell off as I carried her to the couch, and I had no choice but to sit on her abandoned laundry, Ori curled into my chest. “Hush. I’m comforting you.” 

That earned me a watery chuckle at least. “Is that what this is?” she said but leaned into me all the same.

We stayed there until her breathing had calmed and the tears had stopped, though my frill was now damp with Gods knows what. I rooted around for the plainest garment I could find to use as a rag, scrubbing the wetness from my neck before I gave it to her. “Always a gentleman,” she said, wiping her eyes.

“Your purple is streaky now,” I said. I trailed a line of her makeup across her cheek, desperate to make her laugh again. “Very fashionable.”

My ruse worked. “What do you know about fashion?” she scoffed, blowing her nose.

It was a gentle familiarity, our bickering. I knew she liked it too. “DI Hoorik said I was smart today. It’s the talk of the precinct.”

“For the wrong reasons.”

I poked her nose. “You just wiped this on something that cost you a week’s wage. I’d say your opinion is not as valid you think it is.”

“Shut up and hold me again,” she said, poking mine back.

“Yes, ma’am.” I did what I was told and pulled her closer, content to stroke her hair and hum. 

Oriana’s ears might not hear my comfort, but I know she felt it when we were like this. 

It took me a while to realise that she had different needs when her memories seized her. I preferred to be left alone, to let the moment pass before it returned to the Depths. She needed touch, to talk it through, to fight it head on- stubborn to the end, my Ori.

“I suppose it’s what you say it is,” she said, fiddling with the straps on my jacket. “I’ll have to deal with it. No other bastard will.” 

“For work? Yes. But this? This I can do,” I said, and kissed her forehead, right where her centre scales would be. “Feeling better?”

A human shrug was my answer first, then a shy smile. “I’ll miss you, even if you drive me crazy.”

Time would be kinder to her. Human thought might abstract itself into nightmares, but the passing of their years made even nostalgia dull with age. What drell could say the same? “We still have tonight for ourselves,” I said.

She kissed me once, though her cheeks were still damp. “‘To making new memories,’ as you say. Because you think it works on me.”

“It does,” I said, smiling. I could still tell her exactly how many times, too. 

Eventually, we had to move. Neither of us could stay still for long, no matter how much we lov- liked the comfort of each other. She rubbed her under eyes, grimacing at the mess. “I’m going to wash my face.”

“I’ll make us dinner,” I said. Even I could heat a ration pack without killing us. “I’ll make you some more tea too, looks like you need it.”

“Jesus, Kol. You’re meant to say I’m lovely even like this.”

“There’s a drell saying about beauty. Some women are attractive when they cry,” I said. “Some when they laugh, some when they’re angry. You can’t be all three, _ orishen. _ Arashu says so- known fact.”

The soggy shirt she used to wipe her face with was thrown at me, but at least she was amused. “Yeah? You’re getting two out of three.”

She had removed all her makeup when she came out, and I let her pick the vid without an argument. Frankly I’d put up with her shitty  _ Turian Bachelor _ and  _ Blue’s Anatomy _ reruns if it made her happy, but instead, she found a salarian nature documentary about predators on Sur’kesh. “I need something brainless,” she said. 

We consumed our meal with a bottle of human wine she had in front of the screen, Ori’s cold feet under my legs. I watched the lights of the screen flicker against her face as she chewed a thumbnail, deep in her own memories again. 

“I could help,” I said, hand on a delicate ankle. I squeezed it once to get her attention. 

“Hmm?”

“About your colony, I mean. Could look into this company that won’t supply the power. Databanks at work might have something.”

She paused before speaking, unsure what to say. “Won’t you get in trouble?”

“Nope, detective perks. Can access the files when I want. It’ll be on record I did it, but no one will care.” It was a lie. A minor abuse of power, but Hoorik would barely raise an eyebrow at it.

Oriana smiled and leaned in closer. “No, it’s okay. I don’t need my boyfriend to beat them up.”

“C-Sec brutality is a thing of the past,” I said. “Allegedly.” Not in my squad, anyway- not every cop was an asshole, but I’m sure Bats would love some alone time with Socmahal in a quiet cell.

She left me to shower for the night once the vid was over, and I brushed my teeth in her humid bathroom as she finished. The heat and the damp lingered, though Ori had left the extractor on for me-

_ -Kolyat, keep to the domes!” she shouted, tugging my hand away from the beach. ‘You know it’s not good for you- _

There was silence as I joined her in the bedroom, the living room and kitchen darkened already. Oriana sat on the edge of her bed in her towels and her omni-tool open, looking tired and small. “You don’t mind an early night?” she said, closing her mail again.

“Not at all.” 

I could see she had tried to call someone, though I didn’t have to ask who. “They don’t even answer me anymore,” she said. “I’ll try again from another ‘tool tomorrow.”

A pair of delicate underthings was laid out on her bed next to her, a promise for something she had been thinking of too. “That’s pretty,” I told her. All strong purples and dusty pinks, the colours I associated with her the most.

“Oh. Right, yes.” She was almost shy as she put them on with her back turned.

The lights were off as we got under the covers. I could not help touching her and traced a line where her scales bands would be is she had them. I pulled her into my arms, a hand on her waist. She gasped, and-

_ -there,’ she said. ‘Kolyat- _

My hands were soon under her silky top and my mouth on hers, but Oriana pulled away first. “I’m sorry,” she said, a forehead against mine. It was a silent request to stop, and I moved my hands up from her breasts to her shoulders. “Do you mind if we don’t?”

The taste of her toothpaste lingered. “It’s fine,” I said. I felt terrible and tucked the hair obstructing her eye over her ear instead. My fingers scraped the spikes of her earrings; Ori was fond of wearing three little pearls along the fatty part on the skin there- her pearls for Arashu, I called them. Sexual to drell, but-

_ -same metaphor for humans,’ she said, rolling her eyes. ‘All girls have a pearl. Many men of my species need a map to find it, too.’ ‘Poor you,’ I replied, smiling. ‘Did you know drell women have two-  _

We held each other until it was too uncomfortable to linger, and Ori rolled over to make her nest. She usually slept on her stomach in a specific pillow arrangement, and I listened to her breathing slow as she settled into sleep.

Ah, she was exhausted. My poor girl, her Gods damned job. Oriana loved her work, but lately, it did not love her. I could check this company that caused her strife, but I knew she would turn my scales into shoes if she found out. 

But the break-in attempt, that I would check. The officers in charge of it were too inept to even log the report, lazy shits- nothing was in the system. Even T’Lori accessed the network off duty, no doubt reading the Deconnick autopsy over some sticky dive bar while I did the same in bed.

I made sure she was still sleeping when I left the building, dressing in the dark of her hallway. Though the Wards were in constant daylight, most apartments mimicked a night cycle; my eyes were not happy when I blinked in the blue light of the Widow’s star.

I knew the security guard had followed me outside to watch me work. I held my breath and crouched by the stinking pipes, running a gloved hand over them. “Right there,” said Spevis. “Maintenance might have to replace it.”

The sensation of being watched returned, the scales on the back of my neck prickling on edge. I looked up at a bemused Spevis, then beyond into the shadows of the tallest apartment buildings, where plastic trees and holo flowers bloomed in a residential garden. 

“There a problem?” he asked, following my gaze.

If it was someone over the stupid wager I would kill them. Patel, Bats, even Hoorik.  They had no right to follow me here to stare. “There could be,” I said, angry.

I only saw the shadow of nothing as I stood up; we were still alone.  “What?” asked Spevis.

With a huff I looked at the pipes again. The only damage was a couple of talon marks, probably made by a child. “It’s just duct rats,” I said. Only a kid scrabbling through bins of literal garbage. 

“But it’s against the law,” he replied. “If I see them, I’ll call you guys in.”

What a fucking waste of everyone’s time it would be if he did. “If they wreck the place, sure. I’m going back up.”

Oriana mumbled something as I crept back into bed. Sometimes she spoke in her sleep, never enough for a conversation. One day I would record it and show her, but this time she had cried a distinct  _ no _ , sharp and keening. Do humans dream in memory, or was it all made up? I placed a hand on her head, unsure what to do. 

Somehow the gesture soothed her, and I opened my ‘tool to check the databanks for recent duct rat sightings when she settled again, sending a quick message to Mouse. I knew most of their network around my neighbourhood, but Ori’s I had to learn.

CSI Siks had finally uploaded Deconnick’s autopsy report onto the server, and my fingers almost spasmed as I reached to read it.

The toxicology report was the most interesting. Siks found that the concentration of Red Sand in Deconnick’s blood to be 67.8 micrograms per litre, an unprecedented number. He made a note that fatalities have previously been documented in C-Sec with blood levels ranging from as low as three. 

His report determined the Red Sand concentration in Deconnick’s liver to be 450 micrograms per kilogram, blinking in damning orange from my omni-tool. “Fuck me,” I said, whispering out loud. That was an  _ insane _ number.

Despite there being no isolated “lethal level” at which Red Sand can kill those who ingest the drug, there still was a large amount in Deconnick’s body, all while his wrists and arms showed evidence of struggling against his bonds. 

Sik’s guess of myocardial infarction also rang true, but it was a close call. Anoxic Encephalopathy almost got him- the Red Sand overloaded his brain functions, too. Gary Deconnick may have died of a heart attack, but the way we found his body was enough to call it murder.

Sleep eluded me, but it was only midnight. I was still only halfway through the Deconnick autopsy report when Ori stirred herself awake, taking a deep breath before she opened her eyes. “Kol?”

“I’m here,” I said, closing down the file. “You were talking in your sleep again.”

Oriana looked confused, a frown pinching her brow. “I don’t remember anything. What time is it?”

“Late. You’ve only had three hours, go back to sleep.” I could see her check her omni-tool for her own mail notifications, annoyed at her empty inbox. 

The bed shifted as she turned to face me. In the orange glow of the room I still saw the bright blue of her pupils, and she returned my gaze with a scrutiny I could not place. “You’ve been awake all this time?” she asked.

I rolled over and shrugged, a human habit I had picked up from her. “I need less hours than you.”

Oriana reached out to trail her fingers along the stripes of my shoulder. It was a tentative gesture, a silent request for intimacy.  I understood the scrutiny now and traced a line along the dent of her collarbone to where her throat dipped.

Her clothing had slipped around her curves in her sleep. I placed a kiss where her frill would start and heard her sigh, her hands under my fins. Oriana’s neck was always so sensitive, I knew. She liked it when-

_ -kissed her from the bend of her shoulder to her strange ear, shuddering when I- _

The space between us shrunk as I pulled her hip to mine. My mouth found hers, a siren’s call-

_ -nothing ever good comes of the sea,’ she said. ‘Did I ever tell you the story of Lorelei-  _

We had been together long enough for me understand it was an invitation to touch. I promised myself I would be gentle, using old memories of us when this was slow, languorous. Oriana was wounded and hurting, and I would gather the shattered parts and bring them to her-

_ -a soft cry, her legs wrapped in mine- _

But she pushed me onto my back, blue eyes sharp with something. I ran a hand to her neck to hold her chin. “Ori?”

“Stay there,” she said, pulling off her top. She did not want tenderness. Oriana was direct as she leant over me, tongue in my mouth. If she was broken into pieces, there was no time to place them in order. I would watch for the jagged coral as the undertow swept me away.

“Fine.” What foreplay we had was cursory, desperate. I watched her face as she fucked me, hands pinching and touching and trailing.

It surprised us both when she came so quickly, long nails digging into the scales of my shoulders. Oriana jolted once, clear human voice crying out as she found her pleasure, and I could’ve thrust up and joined her. I could’ve yanked her hips and given in, be dragged out by the waves and lost in the currents too.

Instead, I rolled us over, my mouth on her neck as I had planned. This would be slow, my pleasure- ours. We would gather the broken pieces together, made smooth now by the constant tide. 

She opened her eyes to look at me as I thrust into her. Oriana understood my intent, and whatever feral hardness she had before had softened, limbs wrapped around my body to accept me as we moved again.

Gods damned fucking fuck she felt too good. No, I had to do this right, it would be-

_ -lifted her thighs and she moaned, sharp and keening- _

The warmth of her in my hands was better in the flesh and I shifted her higher on the bed, forcing myself to slow down again. Please Ori,  _ please, _ one more time, I beg you.

I always loved to watch her come undone. Her back arched and she had stopped moving, taken and carried by the sea again, just like she promised me with her weird fucking words-

_ -la petite mort,’ she said, my lapels in her hands. I knew what that meant-  _

She was silent this time, all bitten lip and closed eyes; I kissed her to steal it away. My Ori was so very different to me, but this was- she was-

“Gods, fuck.” For a few seconds, I was gone. Even perfect memory struggled to remember oblivion, fragments of dust compared to the moment experienced. I heard myself cry out again, lost and drowning- I didn’t realise her hands held mine as I followed her to the Depths, thrown over our heads.

Once my heart left the frills of my throat I rolled onto my back, taking her with me.  A finger traced the band of stripes of my shoulder again, the gesture that widened the sea and started it all. “That's what I thought we would be doing,” she said. “The best of all goodbyes.”

“I have my uses.” I used her own words against her, but kissed her forehead all the same. “I’ll miss you when you go,  _ orishen.” _

She frowned and pushed her sweaty hair back from her brow. Human dampness used to disgust me, but for some reason I loved it on her. “You’re the reason I look forward to coming back, you know. You’re my home. This place isn’t, it’s just-”

_ -never trust whatever comes out of a gal’s mouth after you’ve fucked ‘em good. They’ll say anything, you know?’ he said, mouth round his burrito. I scowled at Bats, annoyed. ‘Can we eat in silence? Gods thrice fuck it, T’lori- _

I pulled the hands from where she pressed them into her face. “Nothing I say to you sounds right,” she said. “I just want to say I’ll miss you too.” 

There were a thousand sarcastic retorts on my tongue that could’ve ripped her to shreds if I said them; I could be sharp too. “You are always in my thoughts,” I told her. “I’ll look up and there you’ll be when I least expect it.”

“Do you know when I knew I was in love with you?" she said. She dropped it into the conversation like it was a nothing, just a matter of fact question. _ Do you know when the trams will run again, Kol? _

“No, ”I told her. The weight of her words could sink like a stone into the Depths if I let them, but I reached out to pull her closer, her hair in my mouth as I did.

"A month ago. I wasn't going to say anything about it because- well, you understand. It’s terrifying to say to out loud, isn’t it? But when I found I had to visit the colony, I was sad to leave for once. At first, I thought I should say nothing- just leave you, keep it all a secret.”

My chest hurt, for some reason. I knew I was frowning, and looked away, unsure what to do. “Why now?” I heard myself say.

“I thought that it wouldn't be fair to either of us if I never told you. And you have a right to know that someone loves you, if you let yourself want it. We all need to know that, Kolyat. I know we drive each other crazy sometimes, but-”

I kissed her again. “Then come home soon, _ orishen _ . I’ll be waiting.”

She made a little human noise of disgust. “I might not if you keep calling me that,” she said, and I chuckled. Orishen was not a romantic word, but an affectionate one. Ori was a filler syllable used in my native tongue and combined with sh’en it meant fish dumpling.

“I love you too,” I said, saying the words back. I traced a thumb on her lower lip as she smiled at me. She was waiting to hear me say it; they did not stick in my throat like I thought they would.

Oriana pretended to frown, nose against mine. “No woman wants to be a dumpling,” she told me. A quick kiss and she curled into my chest again, eyes drooping.

_ -do you know when I knew I was in love with you?’ she said. She dropped it into the conversation like it was nothing- _

It was a confession she had kept buried for weeks, just as I had with mine. But I could hear the thrum of my chest and her own breathing deepen, words too thick on my tongue to tell her more. Tiredness had finally crept in, and we pulled apart just enough to settle, limbs loose around the other.

While she slept I watched her, just enough to remember the moment like a series of dots to connect.  A stripeless shoulder, the dip of a collarbone, hair pushed back from a damp face, alien eyelashes, the gleam of her skin.

Oriana words were under my scales now. I was buoyed by them-

_ -no one should be an island,’ father said, coughing into a fist. ‘You don’t have to agree with everything I say, Kolyat- just don't make the same mistake I did. There's always time for those you love. Nothing is an excuse to- _

For once I smiled at the memory, the touch of her legs against mine the last thing I remembered as sleep found me.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [You may me hap-py, when skies are grey...](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zUM6DeZvZH4)


	8. Goodbye My Selkie

I woke up to the sound of an omni-tool alarm. Even half-awake I knew it wasn't mine, but the insistence of it was enough to pull me into work-mode, wrenching myself from the warmth of her embrace to find the source of the panic.

“What time?” I asked, rubbing my eyelids. It took several blinks to clear the blur, in desperate need of tea.

“Half past five,” she replied, drowsing at the glowing interface. “Hmm. Sorry, s’off now.”

“No problem.” I settled back down as soon as I could, memories of my working days ignored. C-Sec would not intrude on this morning- I did not know when I would see Oriana again, and every moment mattered.

She yawned and pulled the blanket higher above our shoulders, eyes still closed. I could see marks on her collarbone even in the dim light of the bedroom, scored lines from her nails raking away at the evidence of our last night together. 

I pulled her scratching hands away with a chuff before she made herself bleed. Ori would always hurt herself more than I ever could, the rash a tiny thing compared to the damage her sharp claws could make. “It’s not that bad,” she said. “Just itchy.”

“You’re marking yourself again,” I told her. I kissed the welts out of guilt- it was my keeled scales that caused the itching, though her body still lined itself against the shelter of mine.

“Shower can fix it later,” she said, murmuring. “Lie in time.”

“What about your morning swim?” 

Oriana sighed, voice heavy with sleep again. “Doesn’t matter.”

In precisely four hours she would leave the Citadel for a colony in need of her management; that she sacrificed her sacred pool time to be with me meant something, though it still felt small compared to the secret words we exchanged last night.

I put an arm over her waist as I closed my eyes again, reliving the moments behind them. She loved me. She said-

_ -it wouldn't be fair to either of us if I never told you.’ My chest hurt, for some reason. I knew I was frowning and looked away, unsure what to- _

Sleep soon found me again, but not for long. A very naked Oriana woke me up an hour later, smooth legs brushing against mine deliberately. “Good morning,” she said, doing it again.

I kissed her neck and pulled her in closer, my own body reacting to the sound of her hitched breath and wandering hands. “This is a better alarm call,” I replied.

Ori smiled that secret smile of hers, dimpling her cheeks. She had no facial plates, but I found them endearing just the same. “Do you know, I think we still have time?” she said. “Just a little longer.” 

I hummed my reply, lips against the strange shape of her ear. So very odd in design, human ears. But she liked it when I kissed behind them, and I liked the noises she made when I did. “For what?”

“I don’t know, _ officer _ .” Oriana turned to face me and kissed me hard, and it was my turn for silence as her mouth trailed over the lines of my frill.

It was difficult to find words, and as she moved away, my senses finally returned enough to question her. “Demoted in bed? That hurts,  _ orishen _ . I’m a detective.”

The bedroom lights had set themselves to morning mode, and the blue lights of the room illuminated her in a halo. “You’re not one here,” she said. 

I smiled and tucked a strand of hair over her ear. “I don’t know why I put up with you.” 

Ori kissed me again, but I had other ideas. I pulled away to nip at her throat, her breasts, her stomach. It was warm under the covers, an instinctual comfort. “Why did you stop?” she said. Her thighs opened, and her breath hitched again when I lifted them, warm and heavy in my arms.

_ -could still smell the incense from the wedding ceremony. Teki and I were in  the temple room meant for children, the prayer book on her lap as we read the words, a dark and secret thing. ‘Will you walk the solitary path of heart towards Arashu? Will you love Her, supplicate yourself between Her feet-  _

I could be devout too when I wanted to be; I could love and supplicate too. I smiled as she shuddered from my own version of prayer, intent on her pleasure from my hands and tongue. I knew her holy places; Oriana’s cries were clear, so different to the rumbling trill of a drell, pleased I brought her over the edge again.

I pulled aside the covers to watch her, amused at how she twitched when I touched her stomach, tongue still tasting the salty-sweet of her. “Have I earned my promotion?” I asked. 

Oriana cracked one eye open as I gently closed her legs, smiling at something. “Is that how you passed your detective’s exam?”

_ -how the fuck has he made detective though,’ I heard Officer Sami say through in the locker room. ‘He’s a green as shit kid, I’ve been here longer.’ An amused snort followed, and his partner joined in. ‘I thought he was blue- _

“No,” I said, lying next to her. “I worked harder.” 

I was pinched hard enough for it to hurt, and I flinched away from her sharp little fingers. “Ori! Gods dammit, your nails are demonic.”

“Poor thing.” Ori kissed the scales she bent out of shape, refusing to let me go. “I thought you loved me.” 

The word jolted my stomach again. It was a careless thing to mention, a declaration tossed aside like she did before. I leaned in to kiss her again, and I knew she could taste herself on me. “I do,” I said. 

I didn’t know what else to say and kissed her again. “My heart melts,” she said. Her mouth sucked into the edge of my frill, blunt teeth digging into the folds as she sucked. 

It didn’t hurt, but still felt odd. “Ori,” I said, to her amusement. I pulled away before she did it again. “All this abuse. I should leave.”

“Door’s over there.” I hissed as I felt the wetness of her as she draped a leg over me, my hands finding her waist. “You’re not leaving. Why’s that, I wonder?”

“I’m thinking about it.” My body was not pleased I was.

She had a better idea, she often did. “Think quietly.” 

“Amonkira take my tongue before I speak,” I replied, air escaping through my teeth as she leaned back to touch me. It’s very easy to do as your told when your alien girlfriend has you in the palm of her hands, I find. More so when insists on using her mouth.

Much later we were showered and dressed, her eyes glued on her omni-tool as she worked on something. I watched her as she did, her tongue partially sticking out as she wrote another email. Judging by the firm typing, she was angry. “Finally found someone to yell at,” Ori said, noticing my stare. 

“Good. You’re excellent at it.” After breakfast in her soulless kitchen, I helped carry her suitcase to the waiting skycar, even though she was reluctant to let me.

The journey I was still wrapped up in the memory of her, even though she sat beside me. Oriana pulled her hand from mine to watch the traffic from the window, lost in her own thoughts. She was stressed again, and whatever shelter I had offered her was gone, work stealing her away again. 

This was the third time I accompanied her to the docks to watch her leave the Citadel, but this time I was reluctant to let her go. We sat outside a cafe opposite a scrolling ad booth, close enough to the security check. The thing was too large to avoid, a flickering flag of capitalism to step through before you reached Customs.

I found the table we sat at last time, watching as holos of glossy skycars and smiling maidens sold us garbage. The images would intrude into my eye line no matter what I did, loud enough to be heard over the gentle music the cafe played to calm anxious travellers. 

_ “Are you a loser? Only losers drink Paragade,” _ said one, as Oriana brought back our drinks. “You want Tupari. Winners drink Tupari.”

I sometimes think that when the universe is not actively trying to kill us, it wants us depressed. “Thrice fucking thing,” I said, twisting in my seat so I didn’t have to see it.

Oriana leaned over me to give me my tea, and I caught the scent of her perfume. “Happiness isn’t good for the economy. How are you meant to buy anything without being told how to feel?”

A lecture on capitalism from the woman who would spend all her credits and ration allowances on clothes was too amusing to pass up. “You sell colonies for a living,” I said, refusing to state the obvious. She was in a dress that probably cost half a month’s wage, but I picked my battles with care.

Her shoulder bumped into mine for my troubles. “Build, not sell,” she said. “There’s a difference.”

“Power to the people. Death to the Council. Down with this sort of thing,” I replied, nudging her back.

_ “Kolyat.” _

I knew Oriana did more for charity with one sharp little finger than most of the Upper Wards put together, and I kissed her hand by way of apology. “It’s very hard to take your politics seriously with a pink cup of tea in your hands.” 

_ -fuck you and your fancy uniform, bird,’ she spat at me, her child on her hip. ‘How dare you tell me to move on when all I am doing is trying to live here and- _

Oriana made a show of toasting me, no fibre of shame in her body. “I’ll have you know that champagne socialism works,” she replied. “Or maybe cheap tea does, anyway. Even if it tastes like it’s been cut with Paragade.”

“Only losers drink Paragade,” I replied, nodding at the ad booth.  

Her laugh was worth it, even if she rolled her eyes first. “I’ll suffer through the indignity.”

An omni-call window chirped in front of us, and out of habit I checked my own as she made her apologies to answer it in private. I had an email from T’lori both demanding a smoothie and to meet him at work early, which meant he was hungover again. Still no reply from Bailey, but I knew the Council kept him on a tighter leash than most.

A discreet hand was held in mine, and she squeezed. “My sister wants to meet you,” she said. “She just messaged me. I thought we could have a nice dinner together. No interruptions this time.”

Ah, fuck. “Okay,” I replied. “Sounds lovely.”

I had met Miranda Lawson for the first time two months ago, a stilted lunch with Oriana between us before work called me out. She was another satellite that trailed the star of Shepard, an orbit my father followed without question. Odd that we never crossed paths before, but Ori changed a few things.

I was never so thankful for a gang shooting in all my life the moment I left them alone at that cafe that day. “Well, it’s…” Ori fumbled for her words, awkward; her sister was a conversation that never seemed to flow. “She knows. About you, I mean. That you’re important to me.”

“Important?” I smiled and nudged her again. “Important.”

She narrowed her eyes, and I was one more word away from another rib poke. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but we’re a thing.”

“I’ll take what I can get,” I said. An image of her from this morning flitted across my memories, and I smiled, squeezing her fingers once. 

“I’ll put an ad in the Citadel Connections, will that do? ‘Oriana Lee takes surly drell as boyfriend. Universe mildly confused.’” 

I’d lose the pointless incident room wager if she did. “You’re as bad as work,” I told her. 

The statement made no sense out of context, and I regretted my words in an instant. “Oh?” she asked. “Is a declaration of a relationship status a crime now, officer?”

“I’m a detective, and no.” I cleared my throat, unsure if I should explain the stupid wager to her before it spiralled into a brad comedy vid. “My colleagues, ah, know I’m seeing you. Though the custody sergeant thinks you’re a turian male in his thirties.”

“What?” Her reply was sharp. 

Now was not the moment to tell her about my squad’s stupidity. “They’ll meet you soon enough to see you for themselves at the ball, though I apologise in advance for Bats.” I frowned and realised the wager couldn’t be pinned on one member. “And Patel. And possibly Vitacus.”

Oriana smiled, and I was let off the hook. “I’m sure it’ll be just as easy as meeting Randa again. They all sound so unique. From your descriptions, anyway.”

“Unique is a kinder word than I’d use,” I replied. “DI Hoorik said we all have to be on our best behaviour anyway, or else.”

“And I promise to be on mine,” she said. “We’ll meet Miranda soon after, I imagine. She’s in the Citadel that week.”

A thumbnail was in her mouth, thoughts with her sister again. I knew Oriana was grateful for her; it was a complicated relationship that she struggled to explain, both to herself and to me. 

_ -she was my guardian angel,’ she said. ‘Still is- _

Some bonds go beyond words, but I knew she now distanced herself from her sister to find her own way in life, but still felt guilty enough that she was walking towards it.  “That’s fine,” I said. “I’m sure I can fit whatever you decide around my shifts.” The Gods knew I was owed some time off, at least.

“It’ll be nice to see her again,” she said. I only believed her in part; where was guilt there always came a sense of obligation, and where there was obligation resentment would fester. It was a dance I knew every step of.

“It’ll be good for you.” I held her hands, rubbing a gloved thumb into the flesh of her palm.

“I’ve not seen her in ages.” The subject was dropped with a delicate shrug, and Ori leaned into me. “I don’t know how long I’ll be away this time,” she said, not quite meeting me in the eye. “I don’t think it’ll just be a week. I don’t know if-” she sighed. “The C-Sec ball, I know I said I would go, but-” 

I pulled her in closer, a kiss to her brow; from one tough topic to the next. Spaceports and docks always brought out the subjects we left to the last minute to talk about. “I don’t mind,” I said. “I’ll be here, waiting. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I know,” she said. “Waiting on the shoreline for me to return, like a-” she frowned, forehead creasing in thought. “I forgot the word for them. A creature of the sea, one of the furry ones.”

_ -I can’t get on with humans,’ he said, showing me the flickering holos he had. I sipped my first beer and gagged at the taste. ‘They have fur between their legs, look,  it’s so fucking weird-  _

“Furry? Delightful.”

A fin was tugged for my troubles. “I’m very tired, I can’t think why. Some idiot kept me up all night.” 

“The very best of goodbyes, you said.” I chuffed, amused at her. “Shorelines have an entirely different meaning for me.” 

“I know,” she replied, tugging my fin again. “That’s why I said it.” 

Her alarm beeped on her omni-tool and interrupted us, a reminder that it was time to pass through the security check. I squeezed her fingers again and stood up, pulling her into my arms. “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll call you when I can.” The automated VI called her flight number, and we said our silent goodbyes as I kissed her, Ori’s eyes shining with something. She has to run to reach the decon-chamber in time, and I waited until she was past the security gate to wave. 

She never saw. An adbooth flickered past the entrance and ran her like a vid through its frames, distorting her silhouette behind a floating screen. My omni-tool beeped an incoming message and I ignored it, eyes fixed on her.

But she was gone when it was over, of course she was. I kept the animated image of her in my memories as I left, a series of chances rushed and missed. We had a few, no matter our good intentions.

There was no point in going home for fifteen minutes and I took the tram to Zakera Mid. Fish could cope on her own until lunch hour, and Bats needed to see me before the squad meeting. 

The ghost of Ori’s perfume appeared again as I walked through the crowds of the station, left in the crease of my jacket. I had seen her barely moments ago, but the taste of her lipstick lingered still.

“Your C-Link tram-pass runs out in one day and 16 hours, Sere Krios,” the chipper VI told me as I left the barriers. “Why don’t you buy a yearly subscription instead? You save three hun-”

“Fuck off.”

If I was her fixed point, why did she always leave me? I knew there were places she went I could not follow, but I would never hold her back. 

The last image of her through a flickering holo sharpened into focus, always out of reach. I blinked once, and Ori was above me, face limned in the orange light of her apartment. The memory faded as I stared at the broken vending machine outside the precinct, the sound of a cruiser’s siren overhead.

Of course, work. I had walked here. The Deconnick case. T’Lori was waiting to share information over a smoothie. The squad meeting.

Bats would get tupa berry soda instead, made with real synthesised chemicals. I had to hit the machine to get it to work, but most officers knew where to poke the thing to spit out our drinks. 

Bastard machine ate my credits anyway. “Thrice fuck it-”

_ -everyone deserves to be told they are loved, Kolyat- _

Before I knew what I was doing, I hit the vending machine harder than I thought, annoyed at my mooning. The noise made a couple of the constables look up, keeping my reputation alive and well in C-Sec as the angry drell detective.

_ -a detective?’ Shepard smiled, a shaking metal hand on my elbow. Audrey looked tired. ‘I’m sure Garrus has a few stories to tell. If it makes you happy, then I’m glad to see you in black and blue, Kolya- _

Shepard. I could call her, I suppose, but the way our acquaintance worked is she called me. 

What a fucking conversation that would be. “Hello, it’s your ex-boyfriend’s son, we haven’t spoken in months. I’m with Ori now, we met at your party. Listen, are you still a Spectre? Tell your guys to get the fuck out of my case.” 

No, it wouldn’t do. An unknown Spectre element and the Alliance gagging the Deconnick investigation was bad enough. The threat of Shepard’s publicity would push the team so far off the case we’d be orbiting the Sol system again, and my career would be in tatters. 

I would not be Shepard’s boy. My career was mine alone. 

Another well-aimed punch of the vending machine rewarded me not one but two sodas, just in time for my meeting. I threw one at a clearly hungover T’lori at his desk as he looked up from the pillow of his arms, eyes still crusted in sleep.  “I said smoothie, dip shit,” he said, frowning at the label. 

“No time,” I replied. “Just got here.”

“Interrupted your busy schedule, huh?” He opened his mouth once and closed it, cracking the drink open anyway. “The fuck you even do after work anyway?”

I could be honest, but his stupid bet still lingered. “Apparently nothing. Have you even slept?”

“Some. Got some shut-eye in the storage room,” said Bats, shrugging. “S’quiet.” 

That he stumbled straight out of whatever divebar he found himself in to be here would be brow raising on anyone else, but it was T’Lori. “What have you found out?”

Bats fiddled with the soda before answering. “Enough to know that Deconnick is a piece of shit, but Socmahal is a greasier one, nothing is sticking. My girl says he’s part of something big.”

“For?”

“Movin’ something out of Terminus. And by something she means some _ one _ , I guess. Slaves.”

I placed the other unopened drink on his desk, too full from tea to bother with it. “It’s always the Terminus.”

“Fuckin’ hole of the galaxy,” Bats said, chugging his own.  “Anyways. A lot of colonies around Attican have been hit last month. It ain’t unrelated I’m sure.”

T’lori did not offer up anything else. “The information I pulled off of Deconnick’s terminal revealed a lot of shell companies,” I said. “The usual off-world money shifting, some Illium and Bekenstien accounts. There’s still more to look at.”

“Yeah? Not it.” 

I sat at my own desk before speaking again, curious by something he said. “What did your girl mean by big, do you know?”

He shrugged at me, then wiped the dust from his eyes. “She said it ain’t worth the risk telling me. I’ll try again tonight once I got her money.”

“Would she lie?”

Bats gave me a look of scorn. “Fuck you, Krios, I trust my source. Their word is good.”

He was lucky I was in a good mood. “Could be for our friends on the Council,” I said, refusing to mention Spectres.

Bats gritted his teeth and reached for the other soda. “Won’t know until later,” he said. “What your source say? Your omni-tool guy. Would he lie?”

Mouse was useful, but the lead was tiny. “Over and over again,” I replied. “But I got what we needed. A burner ‘tool was used for the transaction, got a list of pawnshops to check that sell their kind. I need to look into it today, hit up Shin Akiba.”

The subject was dropped when another person walked into the room. “Glad to see you both in so early,” Hoorik said, a cup of what I assumed was coffee in her gloved hands. “I have some good news on the Deconnick.”

That perked us both up. “Oh?”

“Not yet, wait for the others. You’ll like this one, though.”

I wasted time going over Deconnick’s accounts before the meeting, watching the other detectives file in slowly. Vitacus saluted lazily from his desk, hardsuit meticulously clean.

For some reason, Sergeant Phalia, the precinct’s custody sergeant, had joined us for the sitrep. “I’m moving up,” she said, noticing my look as we stood around the holoboard. “Your desks are nicer than mine.”

“First thing’s first,” Hoorik said, hands together. “Special Response send their regards and thanks for yesterday, and commend Detective T’Lori and Krios for their part in the raid.”

“For what, slapping some kids about?” said Bats, twisting open the other soda.

_-I fumbled the rhythm during my compressions and started again with a growl, blood on my uniform, but it felt like a losing battle no matter what I did. ‘Come on, Digger,’ I told him. Maybe he would live, maybe I could help. ‘Plea-_

Digger was barely alive when I left him with the paramedics, but the boy died anyway. “Do we know the cause?” Patel asked.

“Usual gang push back,” Hoorik replied.

I washed his blood off my hardsuit, got on with my day and met my girlfriend for dinner after. When did the death of a teenager become my normal?

Patel patted me on the shoulder as I pinched my brow, but I shook the gesture off. “Have they even been processed yet?” I asked.

“Did it after your shift,” answered Phalia. “That girl of theirs was a good turian and coughed up some information when we separated her from the crew. Defiance are moving in harder and faster now, which means they’re getting stupid.”

It lined up with what Mouse told me yesterday. Theirs was a power grab for Arachnid turf; I’m unsure who won, but that was the usual feeling with Lower Ward gangs.

_ -From what I hear Socmahal has pissed off the Defiance guys,’ said Mouse. ‘Something about extending- _

“Not our case,” said Bats. “Right?”

“We have our own workload. We were only there to fill a uniform,” Hoorik replied, and pulled something off of her omni-tool for us to see. “We’ve been cleared to search Gary Deconnick’s apartment and empty properties, but this is our first job of the day.”

Vids from Custom ID scanners lit up in holo in front of us, interrupting the memory. The mugshots were all Alliance, even if they were already dressed in their civvies; military had a type, and they were it.

“All human,” said Vitacus. “Who are are they?”

Phalia pointed them all out with a talon and read out their names. “Sergeant Rachel Hohepa, Corporal Xiang Li, Corporal Pieter Schaper, Private Michelle Tham, L.Corporal Neves Medeiros, L. Corporal Eric Watts, L.Corporal Bai Liao, PFC Alex Dressler, and Private Benji Holtman.”

Vitacus crossed his arms. “Huh. So all Alliance.”

“Sometimes things go our way,” said Hoorik, smiling at us.  “Yes, yes they are.”

“They're members of Deconnick’s old regiment,” I filled in, recalling the names and faces from what little we could gather from the suppressed files. “And some members of his unit.”

“Most of them have since been moved on or killed in action. Deconnick didn’t stay long in the Alliance,” she said. “These people served with him, though- and knew him. They knew what he got up to and the kind of person he was- and what his business in the Terminus was, I imagine. Your squad knows everything.”

“And guess what,” Patel said, offering me something from his pot of snacks. I declined, but Bats took a handful of whatever lurid candy was in it. “They’re on shore leave.”

“Bit of a coincidence,” I said.

“Not the one you’re thinking,” Hoorik answered. “They only just docked an hour ago. They were in Alliance space during the murder.”

“Nothing like R&R,” said Patel, smiling too much for my liking. “If you are good boys and girls, Uncle Patel can tell you stories about his.”

Bats grinned, never a good sign. “Bet mine are better.”

Phalia pulled up an email on the board for us to read, addressed from First Sergeant Natalie King. “I got an alert that these Marines are- what is it you say, Patel? Shoe loose and fancy?”

He shrugged. “Close enough,” and popped a sweet in his mouth.

“Their superior let C-Sec know an hour ago,” Hoorik added. “It’s in the system. I’m sure I’ll be speaking to First Sergeant King at some point today.”

“It’s been awhile since I’ve done drunk tank duties,” I asked. “Alliance hangouts still the same?”

“Same dives, they don’t go far from their base,” Bats replied first. “The marines ain’t fussy, but they usually start there for the drinkin’. They all end up in Spaceman’s Anchor before the clubs, though. That’s where they fight each other, it’s a shithole.”

“I know of it,” I said. “Not part of my beat.” Nothing had changed, then. Spaceman’s Anchor was a grubby hole in the wall that catered to rowdy Alliance, but at least had the manners to keep their drunken tourism to one spot. 

“Was part of mine. In my experience humans fight anything,” Phalia said. “But at least they’re less messy than krogan. A large fleet of both Alliance Army and Navy docked 7 hours ago too, things are real busy in the bars right now.”

“My credits are on the Marines,” said Vitacus.

“Don’t you discount us Navy,” said Patel. “We fight dirty.”

“Why do you even fight each other to begin with?” I asked, confused. “You’re all Alliance.”

Parel and Hoorik snorted, and I could see Vitacus look at Phalia in question. “It’s similar to Blackwatch for them,” she said. “Old rivalries. Who fights better, that sort of thing.”

"Muscles Are Required, Intelligence Not Essential," said Patel.

Hoorik laughed. “My ex-wife disagrees,” she said.

I was still confused as to why it was good news. “That’s it, then?” I said. “We find these Marines in whatever bar they’re abusing and do what, exactly? Ask them if they would like to help C-Sec with our enquiries?”

“Of course not,” Hoorik said. “We wait around in a bar until they disturb the peace and start something. And then we lead them away in cuffs.”

At my confusion, Patel patted me on the back and offered me more candy. “They’re Marines. They’ll start something.”

Usually, C-Sec looked away when wild packs of soldiers visited the Citadel, giddy in their free time. All species caused trouble, even the turians; the working constables kept most of it off the books, a fine at most.

“Won’t we get in trouble?” said Vitacus, curious at the suggestion. “Everyone still sticks to the R&R protocol, or so I heard.”

“For some,” I said. The R&R Agreement was unofficial, of course. One of those off the book C-Sec procedures the old guard were famous for, a thing to mock. Because if you looked away for something once, you could do it again. Sometimes you got something in return if eyes were blinded.

Lately, though, the Alliance had C-Sec on a leash. We were in Sol for two years before the Citadel could move, but Sol couldn’t cast shadows on our station anymore.

The room went silent as we all waited for an answer from Hoorik. This was her case, and her call. “Fuck them,” she said. “We asked the Alliance for help yesterday, they refused. They play by the new rules now.”

Patel -the only ex-Alliance in the room- shrugged, but I could see he was only pretending to be so nonchalant. “Do they know the new rules, ma’am?”

“They will now,” she replied. “Krios, you seem refreshed. How would you like to go undercover?”

“But I’m drell,” I said, the words out of my mouth before I could stop them. “I won’t exactly fit in at an Alliance bar.”

“That’s the point,” Hoorik said, too amused for her own good. “Patel and I would be cross-examined the moment we set foot into the place. If we were sailors or marines, where did we serve… no one will ask you such things.”

“You’ll be a novelty at most,” Bats said. “Weird drell for boozed up furheads to lick.”

I chuffed in annoyance. “No one is licking anything,” I replied. “I’m not a Weeping Heart model.”

Bats winked at me, eyes still purple-veined from his night out. “Poor Kollie. I can look after you, make sure your neck thingies are unmolested.”

“Frill. It’s called a frill.”

“Whatever. I don’t mind Alliance bars durin’ happy hour, shit’s cheap. Beer’s gross, though. Like, shard wine levels of shit. Uh, no offence ma’am.”

“None taken,” Hoorik replied. “But you’re going nowhere.” She said it with a smile, but her authority was loud and clear. “You’re going to go over Deconnick’s accounts at your desk, and finish what Krios started last night.”

“What.” Only our boss could keep Bats out of a bar. “Come on, I’m perfect for this. Humans are fuckin’ weird about asari. They’ll love me.”

“To be fair ma’am,” Patel started, eyes on them both. “Detective T’Lori is made to prop up a bar undercover. It’s what he does off duty.”

“Not while he’s still hungover.”

_ “I ain’t.”  _ T’lori looked away, clearly pissed. “Ma’am.”

“I know your biotics burn it off fast,” she continued.  “But I also know Krios will behave himself. Vitacus, what’s your wide-eyed colony tourist impression like?”

“I can flap my mandibles like the rest of them,” he replied. “Luckily I have civvies in the locker.”

“The violently neon ones? Excellent,” said Hoorik. We had only seen Vitacus in eye gouging greens and pinks outside of his uniform, perfect for a tourist. “Krios, don’t wear that jacket. We need you to be someone else.”

She had a point. I had my C-Sec ID stitched in the sleeves, per regulation. “Obviously. I need to go home, I only have my running gear.”

“I got something in the unclaimed box in custody that’ll fit,” said Phalia, squinting down at me. “Plenty of humans leave things, especially when the drunk tank empties out early.”

“I am not wearing leftover clothing,” I said, disgusted at the thought.

“It’ll be washed and cleaned if you’re lucky,” she replied. “Only a lingering smell of vomit.”

“No.”

“Who are we looking for exactly?” asked Vitacus.

“All of them, but Sergeant Rachel Hohepa, Corporal Xiang Li, and Corporal Pieter Schaper are your main targets. They’ve started things before, but we kept it off the books,” said Patel. “You know how it is.”

I had memorized their faces already, but now we had to find them, or rather- they find us.

_ -Amonkira grant that my hands be steady, because I need to piss,’ I said, stumbling on my feet from the tequila. Father frowned, his hands behind his back. ‘A plea to the Lord of the Hunt should not be taken lightly, Kolya- _

Should the worst come to pass and I bungle the arrest,  a vengeful god would be more understanding than the squad, so I looked again at their holos. Vitacus stared at them just as intently, eyes lingering at their alien faces. “Right,” he said. We can do this.”

How hard was it to find three drunk Marines on the Citadel, anyway?


	9. What Shall We Do With The Drunken Sailor?

A somewhat clean jacket was given to me to wear over my running clothes, and next to Vitacus we both looked like the lost colony bumpkins we were meant to be. “This is too tight,” I said, trying to fasten the zip. I had a suspicion it was made for a feminine body, but apparently I had no say in the matter.

“None of that. You look a lovely couple,” said Patel, tweaking my rumpled collar. “Wait there, I have just the thing.”

His groping hands fastened something orange around my waist before I could slap them away. “The _ Hell _ is this?”

“My lucky fanny pack, you look after that. There’s room for your sidearm, the bar won’t think to look there for a concealed weapon. I also saved you some treats for later, feel free to give it a rummage.”

I unzipped the thing to check whatever was shoved into it, reluctant to put my hand in blind. “Omni-gel, a VI-”

Patel sent over the authorisation codes from his ‘tool with a wink. “Standard issue for riots. You never know with Marines.”

“-and a ration packet of gummiworms?”

“Naughty. They’re meant to be a surprise.”

Bats refused to say goodbye as we left, though the plan was set. A couple of plain clothed constables were roped in to help patrol the other bars, but Hoorik thought it best for trouble to come to the squad; Vitacus and I were ordered to wait it out in the Spaceman’s Anchor.

Like everything new in Zakera, the place popped up Postwar. Our Ward may have survived the impact of Reapers, but our consolation prize was gentrification and vomiting soldiers- lucky us.

“Testing, testing,” a voice said into my audio line. “Hello, my lovelies.”

“Loud and clear Patel,” I said, trying not to put a finger over my ear.

“Goddess Taramasalata be with you. DI Hoorik and I are close by in the cruiser if you need it.”

Much as I wanted to yell at Patel, I still had to play the tourist. “Fuck off and leave us to it,” I replied, through a gritted smile.

Hoorik was right, to my relief. A drell and a turian may have gotten looks on the street here, but not as much as I thought. It was the Citadel, and clueless idiot came in many flavours. We would wait out an Alliance pissing match in relative peace and knew how to handle handsy barflies in they approached. 

Spaceman’s Anchor still lived up to T’lori’s promise of being a shit hole, with no sign of  bouncer at the door. “After you,” said Vitacus, tagging my shoulder.

Both of us had to step over a Marine slumped in the doorway, eating something he dropped on the floor. “These are some really fuckin’ good nachos,” he said, too drunk to care. 

_ -try the green sauce,’ Father said, pushing food onto me again. The lights of New Mexico shimmered on the horizon, the air dry and warm. ‘It’s quite piquant. I did not realise human food was so- _

We both felt the weight of an entire fucking battalion of Alliance stare at our backs when we reached the bar. I pretended to inspect the menu on the holo-board, while Vitacus looked at the wall hangings. “Gee, what are the banners for?” he said, acting like the tourist he was meant to be. “They’re neat, kind of remind me of colony markings.”

The girl running the bar squinted at us, then shrugged. Pink and green scaled creatures were tattooed on her bare arms, and I wondered what Oriana would look like with them. “You sure?” she asked, trying to work us out. Her eyes darted over to a particularly rowdy group of sailors, then towards us again. She didn’t quite ask us if we were lost, but close enough.

“We’re here for the nachos,” I replied. “And the two for one ale.” 

It was enough for her. “That fucking review,” she said, and I almost smiled at being let off the hook. “We get mentioned once, and they all come for the cuisine.” The word was almost spat out.

“We’ll take one plate of levo, one of-”

“Our dextro supplies ain’t arrived,” she said, pouring a drink for another customer. “You okay with a ration bar? We got nothing else.”

Vitacus at least pretended to look put out. “I guess. Got to eat something.” 

We both ordered alcohol to fit in. I had a human beer to sip slowly, even if it tasted like the inside of a vent grill. Vitacus enjoyed his bottle of Drossix Blue, surprised the bar even had it. “The corner,” I said. It was a good spot to watch, and we were in the shadows enough to be left alone.

The nachos were awful, despite the glowing review from who knows where. I ate them anyway; there was only so much you could do with  _ Ration Pack 1A: Levo _ , after all. “What’s the green stuff?” asked Vitacus, curious. “Looks like varren sick.”

“Probably is,” I replied. “Some kind of reconstituted fruit mush.”

He was poking my leftovers with a talon when our targets came in. I recognised the women from the holos first; even though they were in their civvies, they were Marine to their shining boot tips, despite the casual dress.

It took everything I had not to stare, and I sipped my beer instead. “And now we wait for the show,” Vitacus said. 

One of our targets noticed us despite our lurking, and I tried not to frown- the last we wanted was attention from him. Corporal Pieter Schaper was square-faced and taller than I thought in the flesh, and had the same hair and eye colour combination as Ori. Handsome, I suppose-  if you like human men that look like they could rip a table in half. 

I leaned into Vitacus, despite the looks. “You have an admirer.”

“Not bad,” Vitacus replied. My gaze must’ve said something, because he smiled. “Hey now, I have eyes. I can still window shop.” 

“Don’t encourage it. We’re meant to be observing.”  

Too late. Schaper was about to come over, but one of his friends jumped on his back before he could reach us. “Pietey! Fuckin’ sweet, we got us a booth!” 

“I ordered shots-” was all I heard from another before club music kicked in, covering up their excitement. It was always party hour for someone on the Citadel.

“If he won’t take no for an answer, you’re my boyfriend now,” Vitacus said, wiggling his browplates at me. 

“Yes dear,” I replied. “But I told you. Dinner and a vid first, I have standards.”

He toasted me with his Drossix. “Sure thing. Pick you up at six.” 

Sergeant Phalia had already explained in very exact words what she thought of Vitacus, to the point of projecting her type onto me. “Phalia thinks we’d be good together, did you know?” I said. “I’m sorry to break your heart, but I’m spoken for.”

_ -my chin was pinched, but she kissed me after. ‘Why do say ‘my Ori’ like I’m a thing you own? I’m not your anything, I’m my- _

“I’m a broken man,” he said, hand clutched to his keel. He went back to watching the sailors glaring at the Marines, but so far everyone was behaving. 

Vitacus was interesting. He was new, but so far kept out of the betting pool over my love life. “You don’t think we can make it work?” I asked. “I’m offended.” I poured enough sarcasm in my answer to tell him I wasn’t.

I was given a pointed look first. “I’m not your type. I know a plate chaser when I see one, and you’re not. He is, though.” Vitacus jerked his head to where the Marines were, his human admirer looking up to stare our way again.

Even though it would get him on T’lori’s good side, Vitacus had yet to take part in the wager, and I was still curious why. “And what is my type?” I asked, poking for a reaction.

The group of Alliance sailors laughed at something before he could reply, loud enough to pitch over the obnoxious bar music. “You really want my opinion on that bet, huh?” he said. The barmaid turned up the volume, and I winced at the garbage played. 

I’d take Ori’s scratchy orchestras over this noise. I leaned in closer so I could hear his answer, annoyed at the tinny frequency deaf human ears were immune to. “Everyone else has one.”

Vitacus offered me another lopsided smile, this time framed by mandibles. “Patel has a point, interspecies isn’t for everyone. But if I’m honest? I don’t know who you’re with. The wager seems like a thing T’Lori’s doing just to wind you up, anyway. I don’t think anyone cares who it is, just that you’re with someone. I get the impression they think you’re a loner.”

It was the truth, and I took an interest in the Marine’s shot drinking to cover up my surprise. “I don’t see what all the fuss is for.”

“That’s squad life for you,” he replied. “My last crew, we called one guy Wrapper because he once ate one whole by mistake. He was forever known as The Guy That Ate The Wrapper, no one would let it go. It’s just how it goes.”

There was something I was curious about that he didn’t answer yet. “How do you know it’s not a turian, then? It might be, for all you know.”

“Because you haven’t checked me out,” he replied, blunt and to the point. I started to laugh, and he held out a hand. “Or Officer Tacian, who -by the way- is seriously up there as Mr. Hierarchy 2191. Shame he’s married.”

I shrugged into my tepid beer. “I’ll take your word for it. But it doesn’t matter what you all think of me, as long as you leave my, ah, ‘significant other’ alone. Obviously.”

“Significant other?” Vitacus whistled once, amused. “That’s a big thing to call it, you must be serious. Are you guys Ikius trip level of relationship status, or is that yet to come?” he asked.

We both glanced over as the Marines laughed at something, one of them flexing his arms. I tried not to roll my eyes at the human posing and shrugged at the question; we could still talk amongst ourselves, even if we working. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You know, Ikius- prefab furniture store that’s everywhere? It’s like a crucible for a relationship. Every couple I know has an Ikius story, trust me.”

I still didn’t know if I could trust him not to open his mouth to T’Lori, and shrugged. “We’re not quite browsing homeware yet, no.”

“Think you will be?”

Ori dragged me into many shops in our free time, but I knew she held a distaste for the place- even if she never quite expressed it as one.

_ -I mean, they’re great for work,’ she said, flicking through the catalogue on her omni-tool. ‘They designed temporary stacking homes for refugees, did you know? But I’m not sure I want- _

“Perhaps,” I replied slowly, but I could see he had more to say on the subject. “What’s your Ikius story, then? You must have one.”

Vitacus laughed, though his eyes were still on the Alliance Marines. Another line of shots were on the bar now- they drank like the famished. “This all happened after officer training. My then boyfriend, Kasi- we were getting our own place just after graduating, you know? Nice apartment in the city close enough to our posts. Until then, we had both been using single beds thanks to Boot. Sharing one is stupid and not romantic, believe me. To fix this, off we go to Ikius.”

So far, so boring. “And?” I prompted.

“Things start off okay. We start with lunch, eat those greasy meatballs, admire the living room couches, move into kitchen wares. All so far an enjoyable fantasy, one where we are functional adults instead of freshly Booted rookies. And then we reach our destination,” he said, waving his hand off into the distance. “Bedrooms.”

“My bed is from Ikius,” I said, then shrugged. It was a dull statement to match a dull story, and I looked at our targets again as he replied. One of the Marines downed his beer, to the yelling of his friends; the one that liked Vitacus so much even clapped the drinker on the back. “What happened?”

“There was too much on offer, I start scanning the price tags to narrow the options. I found the best one for us, and said so. And this is where the trouble starts.”

“Over a bed?” I don’t know why I questioned it; Oriana and I never yelled exactly, but we still argued over stupid nonsense. The last was over her Gods damn insistence on wearing her shoes in my apartment, instead of taking them off at the door.

Vitacus begins to peel off the beer label with his talons, the plastic shredding easily. “See up until now, I didn't realise exactly how bad this man's fear of decision making was. He looks at this bed for a long time, refusing to talk about it, and just- stares.”

“Traumatic,” I replied. “Obviously.”

“Oh, it gets better. Kasi sits down with his head in his hands, in the middle of fucking Ikius, and eventually talks to me. I discover that buying a bed to him means something else. It means staying on the colony forever, never moving, no promotion, marriage, kids. All over buying a bed.”

I chuffed once, though Vitacus at least smiled at my reaction. “I think there was more to it than furniture,” I said.

“Well, yeah.” He sipped his drink before speaking, still smiling. “We spent three hours in that Ikius and left with nothing, all because he thought that buying it meant this huge change between us. About a month later we went back and bought that exact bed because we had to. Kasi never moved off colony, by the way. Still there, far as I know, doing the same job.”

That Vitacus was here on the Citadel meant I knew the punchline to his story. “So his greatest fears were confirmed.”

“Hey now, at least we never got to the kid stage.” He shrugged and flicked the plastic off his fingers. “But we broke up six months after. Did you know, he took the bed? After all that. I was left with the couch.”

I don’t know why it was funny, but it was. At least Vitacus didn’t mind me laughing and toasted my reaction. “I’m sorry,” I replied. “I think you got the better deal.”

“You’re right, I did.”

We had become part of the furniture in the hour we sat there, watching humans pickle themselves in 2-for-1 shots. More sailors had poured into the door now, and the Marines had noticed. One of the smaller women from their group with the short hair -Corporal Xiang Li, one of the ones we had to watch- went to the bar and stumbled into the newcomers, all of them as soused as the other.

When I would write the report, I would say the Marines escalated the situation, even if both groups were as bad as the other  Xiang Li started it with a shove, annoyed at the mess of sailors around her.

Neither of us could lipread whatever human language she was speaking, but we could translate the start of a bar fight when we saw one. “You know, I thought I left my drunk tank days behind me,” I said, staring at my untouched beer. Why was drunk asshole so universal?

Both of us adjusted the frequency of our translators under the table, if only to hear the insults. “Your call,” Vitacus said, under his breath. “Think we can handle it? Patel and Hoorik are close.”

Two C-Sec detectives against an entire bar of angry Alliance? No problem. Obviously. “We can handle it.”

The music was still playing, even if a fight was brewing. Two of the Marines leapt from the booth to even out the fight for their friend, surrounded as she was by sailors. “Don’t you fucking touch her,” we heard over the thumping noise. “You apologise.”

The bar was watching now. Another shove, this time from the sailor. “Jarhead piece of shit. Fuck you.”

“The fuck you say?” A poke this time, aimed squarely into a meaty chest. “Do I knock the cocks out of your mouth when you’re working? No? Get the fuck out of here, this bar is for Marines.”

I’m not sure how ruining your liver counted as work, but I wasn’t Alliance. “Wait,” I said, still seated in the corner. Vitacus was twitching his leg. “Not yet.”

There are different kinds of riots and fights, but almost all them can be described in the same manner as a fire. For one to start, two things are needed: fuel and a spark.

Since working C-Sec, I’ve found the fuel for a riot builds up over time. Even Postwar where people are hungry for one, rebellion has to percolate. It can take years of prejudice, segregation, unfair treatment, and antagonism to built before something happens, and we were trained to spot the breaking point.

If people have no effective way of changing their situation, that undercurrent of anger and frustration only grows stronger and stronger, to the point any Godsdamn spark can set it off.

For the Marines, all it took was another drunken push.

Corporal Xiang Li might be small, but she could throw a mean punch. The sailor reeled from the shot, to the point of collapse. “All in!” was shouted behind me- the other marines had noticed. “Fuckin’ A.”

Patel tried to explain it to me once, Alliance culture.

_ -you do not leave your battle buddy behind,’ he said. ‘Simple as that. Squad is your mother and father- _

Apparently, the familial courtesy extended itself to shitty bar fights. “They’re off,” I said into comm-line.

“Gird your loins,” replied Patel. “Hoorik says wait for it to get worse.”

Vitacus looked at me, then watched as another Marine fist hit sailor face. “Uh- shouldn’t we,  _ uh _ , do something?”

Both of us stood up to watch the show. The barmaid we spoke to earlier was not happy, and scooped the drinks off the bar before more glass was shattered. “Not yet,” I said.

The music played on as the punches got worse. Corporal Schaper looked one sailor square in the eye and smiled at as he spoke, slow to anger. So far he had yet to join the fray, but all it took was one poke to the chest before he issued a resounding headbutt that knocked his assailant out cold.

“Spirits,” Vitacus said, impressed. “That was a shot.”

It was the headbutt that sealed their fate. I pulled my pistol out of my fannypack, freeing the riot-VI with a click from my free hand.

_ “This is C-Sec. Please kneel and place your hands on your heads, and place all weapons on the ground. This is an order.“ _

As the bar illuminated in loud sirens, the group scattered, caught in the act. Thrice fuck it, the VI was loud. “Nobody move,” I managed to get in-between the VI’s orders. “You are all under arrest.”

Both packs of Marines and sailors refused to listen to a direct order, and bystanders and fighters alike spilled onto the street. “Fucking run,” Xiang Li shouted to her squad. “Sarge is going to skin us.”

I managed to catch and cuff one of the Marines before they dashed, too drunk to flee; so much for leaving no one behind.

A squirming Private Michelle Tham looked up at me from the floor with a split lip, still hyped from the fight. “Shoulda seen the other guy,” she said, spitting out a mouthful of blood.

“I have. He’s out cold next to you.”

“Let the others go,” Hoorik said through the line. “There are only two exits. We are stationed at both.”

“That’s quite the mess leaving,” Patel said into my ear. “You guys okay?”

“Touched you’re worried. All good,” Vitacus said, pulling out his own concealed weapon. “Get on the floor,” he said to the remaining stragglers. “You heard the VI.”

The barmaid looked over at me and scowled, finally switching off the music. We could hear the sound of panicked Alliance scattering like cockroaches, and Vitacus leapt over the collapsed to chase down the remaining Marines with a grunt.

I led away a stumbling Private Tham as our plain-clothed backup finally filed into the bar. “Hey, Officer. I like your fannypack,” she slurred, still drunk. “Is it standard issue for C-Sex -Sec- now? What else you packin’ in there?”

_ -Ori moved her mouth from mine so I could find the words enough to reply. “Demoted in bed?’ I said. ‘That hurts,  _ orishen. _ I’m a detective- _

“Let’s not add molestation to your charges,” I replied. “My shift has just started.”

“But I’m cuffed, I can’t molest anything,” she said, confused. “I can give it a go with ‘em on, though.”

Usually, I was hesitant to let suspects exercise their right to remain silent, but the Marines were testing my patience. “Please stop talking.”

The rest of their crew were cornered. Vitacus and Hoorik had Corporal Schaper cuffed between them; he was trying his hardest to still flirt with Vitacus, even though he was the one leading him away.

Gods thrice fuck it, did anyone get laid in the Alliance, or did they wait for shore leave? “You look like a candy bar,” Schaper said, eyeing Vitacus with a smile.

For a bunch of cuffed suspects on their way to being charged, they all seemed relaxed about the situation. “He does,” said his equally incapacitated friend, blood dripping down his face; customs had identified him as Dressler, though his ID picture was less swollen with punches. “Like one of them-- shit, what was them pink ones with rock candy called again?”

“Rock Jumpers,” said Patel, with a smile. “Mars made. Just what a growing boy needs.”  

“Haha, you like to jump rocks, Corporal?” said Dressler. “You like cuttlebon-”

Schaper looked away from Vitacus to talk to his squadmate. “Shut the fuck up, Dressler.”

I had reached my fill of drunk Alliance banter. Hoorik looked at them with narrowed eyes, politely amused at their words. “Detective Vitacus,” she said. “See that your tall  _ admirer _ enjoys the full extent of C-Sec’s hospitality, and get him into the van with the rest.”

Patel idly scratched at his neck as he helped me dispatch Private Tham into the waiting drunk tank. “That was easy enough,” said the man who did nothing. “Time for a gummiworm.”

He looked at me expectantly, and I rolled my eyes. “Knock yourself out,” I said, and handed the fannypack back to its original owner, watching as he shoved the candy into his mouth with a grin.

Hoorik was pleased with the haul, even if the stone-faced constables helping us catch and cuff the remaining were not. “We got them,” she said. “Phalia has called their sargeant and explained, and I have a feeling the Alliance will talk to us now. I can’t think why.”

It was underhanded and manipulative of us, but I had a feeling whatever charges we pinned on the Marines would disappear once Hoorik got what we needed; they would remember they could help us with our enquiries after all, if we would look the other way.

We would have Alliance cooperation for the Deconnick case, willing or not; all we had to do was wait for it.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea who is reading this. Let me know in the comments if you are! Reviews keep me going, especially when I'm having doubts.


	10. On The Same Side

I was out of my undercover clothes and back into the tight pinch of my uniform’s stab vest, a comfort despite the weight.

The incident room was as quiet as a crime scene morgue thanks to a muttering Bats T’Lori. The jobbing constables who worked around us gave me a look before I sat down, as if his foul mood was my responsibility.

“The raid went well. Before you ask.” 

T’lori barely looked away from his work, up to his eyes in slowly scrolling accounts and names through the holo of his monitor. “Good for you.”  
  
I took pity on his workload and started searching through Deconnick’s shelled bank accounts, picking up where I left off yesterday. “I had a good time,” said Vitacus, nervous at the silence. “Drunk humans are entertaining to watch.”   
  
Bats’ mouth had bunched in a scowl, lips pursed. “I even had a beer,” I added. “And something called nachos.”   
  
“Yeah? I hoped you choked on it,” Bats replied.   
  
“Barely touched the stuff, human ale is quite disgusting.”   
  
“Krios held his drink like it was his baby,” said Vitacus. “I had a Drossix, though. Label was dusty, but was still delicious.”   
  
“I ain’t mad,” said Bats, clearly lying. “Just up to my tits in numbers, and not the good kind.”   
  
“You’re terrible at this,” I said, looking at the mess he was making on his screen. ”You’re not even using the search function correctly, if you-”   
  
“Fuck you man, I’m doing great.”   
  
We worked in silence until Hoorik crooked her finger at me, silently looming by our desks. Bats and Vitacus looked up ready to follow her lead, but Hoorik shook her head in a clear _no_.   
  
“T’Lori, Vitacus- I want you to confirm the ex-bondmate and the son’s alibi on the night of Deconnick’s murder, please,” she said. “A bottle is in it if you can get something out of her legal rep after, pay them a visit. Krios, you’re with me.”   
  
“Looks like I’m getting another Drossix,” said Vitacus. “I can speak lawyer. I understand them- just nod and smile and say they have it tough, that sort of thing.”   
  
Bats snorted and pulled on his jacket. “Says the rookie. I gots my ways too, watch and learn.”   
  
I had an idea what Hoorik needed me for. “I want you in with me when I interview First-Sergeant King,” she said, as soon as I followed her heels. “The CO of all those lovely Marines we have in lock up has decided to turn up.”   
  
“Understood.” I was often brought in as the supporting detective for interviews, and I knew it was because I was foreign and alien to most species. In most cases I was the first -and possibly only- drell they would see, thanks to my people’s reluctance to flee the ocean choking their lungs. I was unfamiliar to read and a politically bland sight across the table; both were useful in interviews, and it would be lying if I said I didn’t use either on a daily basis in my work.   
  
About once a month I got called out to deal with the direct opposite, which I’m always in two minds to go through with. If it didn’t affect my current caseload I helped, and played C-Sec’s drell to whoever needed it. Despite being in Investigations as a working detective, I was still called in to sit in interview rooms up and down the Wards, just so someone on the opposite side of the table could see a familiar face.   
  
_-oh Arashu bless you and the Welcoming Shore you will walk on,’ she said, body bowed in relief. ‘You found my little girl, sere. I’m so-_ _  
_   
I knew as soon as I signed up at the Academy I would be a minority in C-Sec, but I refused to take part in the more pointless stunts they wanted me for. The useless ‘C-Sexy of the Month’ charity shoots and safety vids PR mailed me about were ignored, all because they wanted an alien face in uniform.   
  
_-no,’ I said, adding ‘sir,’ after. ‘I would prefer not to. I do not like cameras.’ Commander Bailey looked at me and smiled. ‘I could order you to, kid-_ _  
_   
Sometimes the casual labelling wormed its way under my scales, like it was a thing I was reduced to. I am even convinced being drell almost cost me promotion; some of the precinct's desk warmers were reluctant to let me go to Murder Squad, and thought my skills would be more useful serving the community as a liaison officer for C-Sec instead of as a detective.   
  
My Investigation exam scores were something I achieved myself, even I screwed up their metric data by being the only drell to have them. The cost of being a species no one gave a Gods damn shit about meant that people assumed you only had one role to play, even if I refused it. I didn’t accept the Compact when the hanar ambassador asked, and refused to play a watered down C-Sec version now.   
  
Patel was already in the observation booth waiting for us, audio and video synced and ready for the interview. First Sergeant Natalie King was a well-muscled woman in neat civilian clothes, dressed in a basic shirt and fatigue combo I’ve seen off-duty Alliance wear a thousand times over. She had the same vague threat of military to her as her men, despite the apparent stiffness of her cybernetic arm- a souvenir of the war from a mission too classified for C-Sec to read about.   
  
King had bright red hair I couldn’t place as natural or not, but her green eyes were. They were currently fixed on scowling into the slow-blinking camera of her interview room; she assumed someone was watching her, even if she couldn’t see where.   
  
The sound of Patel sucking his nail made me look at him. “She seems feisty,” he said, nodding at King. “And your type, ma’am. Unless the ol’ radar is on the blink again.”   
  
“Whatever are you implying, Detective Patel?” Hoorik asked, running a hand through her own short hair. The context baffled me, but I wasn’t going to ask. Humans divided themselves up into labels and neatly grouped themselves, but it’s not as if I could argue any differently for my kind.     
  
“Just the obvious,” said Patel, smiling at her.   
  
“Not as obvious as you think, but I assume everyone is a lesbian until proven guilty. I do struggle on the Citadel, I won’t lie,” said Hoorik. “Colonist or butch, it’s hard to tell. I once spent all night listening to a visiting farmer talk about sterile crops, only to find out she had seven kids and a husband back on Sirona.”   
  
“You’d love my sister-in-law,” Patel said. “The only woman I know that can fix an automated harvester with one hand and shoot a pirate with the other.”   
  
“My kind of woman. I forget you’re a colony boy.”   
  
“For my sins,” he said, winking.

Their conversation now at least translated to a more universal understanding. Planet-borns would always find colonists cultural oddities. You had to be, to live in strange conditions; the Belar mine workers of my people were a strange bunch, but I knew they thought of us Kahje-born as caged pets.

Both would think I was insane, choosing a life on the Citadel. “How long has King been waiting?” I asked, wondering how long Hoorik would make King sit in silence.  
  
Patel still had on the fannypack he loaned me for undercover, and pulled out the last of his candy rations from its depths. I suspected they were sticky from the warmth of his body, and both Hoorik and I passed when he offered us the packet. “Oh, Five minutes now. Any longer and she’s going to be chewing scenery.”   
  
“I’m tempted to let her, but we’re on a schedule. Let’s go, Krios.”   
  
We were given a look of polite disinterest when we entered the interview room. Put upon, considering the fleeting scowl on King’s face before she looked away. “This going to take long?” she said, crossing her arms. “I told my guys they weren’t allowed to add to or take away from the local population, so what did they do?”

I listed it in one breath. “Criminal Damage, Non Domestic Violence and Resisting Arrest.”  
  
“Are you serious?” King scratched at her metal arm, a frown still etched in her brow. I assumed the itch was a sympathetic gesture left by the ghost of nerves, and not an actual feeling. “All this for a piss-up charge. Since when does Investigations handle drunk soldiers?”   
  
I ignored the question. “One even threatened to molest me during her arrest,” I said. “Apparently drell are a novelty to handsy Marines.”   
  
“You look real upset over it.” King narrowed her eyes at us, trying to work us out. “What do you want, detectives?”   
  
DI Hoorik did not waste time, to my surprise. “Gary Deconnick. I’m know you're familiar with the name.”   
  
King snorted, a metal nail between her teeth. “He’s dead, last I heard.”   
  
“But you have heard,” I replied, ignoring her fidgeting.   
  
King adjusted the edge of her shirt a little too firmly, whatever last attempt at civility gone. “I thought there was an understanding. Between C-Sec and the Alliance, I mean. A bit of R&R is all fun and games, no one gets hurt. At least no one local, anyway. You know how it is, we’re all on the same side.”   
  
“Are we?” Hoorik cleared her throat, her face a mask or polite disagreement. “As far as I can tell, there’s no official word of this understanding. So no, I don’t know what you’re implying. But I do know when the law has been broken, First Sergeant.”   
  
The silence was so loud I hear the booted feet of a turian officer stride outside the corridor, one of the constables on the move to the incident room. It was always a distinct sound, a heavy sway to accommodate a hard suit. “What do you really want,” King said, as the footfalls faded from my hearing. “Everyone wants something.”

“Truth, justice, a decent cup of coffee. The usual,” replied Hoorik. “But your cooperation with our murder case would be outstanding too. As I understand it you were Deconnick’s former CO when he was in the Marines.”  
  
Our witness was not rolling over yet. King’s arms were crossed again, this time accompanied by a tinny drumming of fingers along a taut bicep. “What’s that have to do with my men in your lockup?”   
  
We were playing dirty, but we were still within the lines of procedure. “Take a guess,” Hoorik replied.   
  
“Fucking really? Bribery? You let my guys go without a mark if I help, that it?”   
  
Hoorik only smiled. “I do so like it when people are helpful, though. Especially on a homicide case.”   
  
First Sergeant King was not, as Patel was fond of saying, a happy camper. “Things are classified, not as easy as that. We got procedures too.”   
  
It was my turn to play the dumb assistant again. “I thought we had an understanding,” I said, frowning. “Or so you said. C-Sec and Alliance were on the same side.”   
  
King snorted, a soft chuff of noise. Not like Ori’s louder version-   
  
_-oh Kolyat no,’ she said between snorts, blue eyes wet from amusement as I-_ _  
_   
“And if I don’t help you?” King asked.   
  
I plastered another suitably inane frown on my face. “Ah. Does a C-Sec charge means to the mast?”   
  
“The brig, close enough. You’ll have to forgive Detective Krios, First Sergeant- he’s new to the Alliance way of things. An assault charge certainly means ruined careers for freshly scrubbed Marines, doesn’t it? I’m not as familiar with the procedure as I was, how ruined are they?”   
  
A softly muttered _fuck_ was our answer. Of course I Gods damn knew what would happen, but I was here to play the dumb drell. Her marines would have their careers stalled, all because they got drunk and picked a fight- and I happened to be there to catch them in the act.   
  
We had her. King shrugged then smiled, and neither of us believed for one moment she meant it. “This is new,” she said. “But I always knew C-Sec was bent.”   
  
The Wards were _our_ jurisdiction. “Nothing is being bent, as I understand,” I replied. “Since nothing has been processed into our systems.”   
  
Hoorik returned a sharp smile of her own. “Our data backup is having problems thanks to the power outages. You know there’s talk of returning to a physical record again? Baffling, but that’s Postwar bureaucracy for you.”   
  
I doubt anyone would press charges from that awful dive of a bar, but we had yet to process the arrest. For once King stopped trying to work us out, and stared at the ceiling. “I guess you want what I say as official and signed for.”   
  
“Of course we do. You’re only helping us with our inquiries into the death of your former squaddie, no one is under suspicion. I know you and your crew were in another System the time Mr. Deconnick was murdered, but information on anything you can give us would be helpful.”   
  
“ _Mister_ Deconnick? That’s a funny name for Gaz No Mates.” King gave another soft snort, this time a lopsided grin to accompany it. “He never got past Corporal for a reason. I won’t tell you what he got up to, last time I checked homicide detectives didn’t have Spectre clearance.”   
  
The words stung, considering our politically gagged circumstance. “What was Mr. Deconnick like to work with?” I asked, side-stepping her words.   
  
I could already guess King’s answer. No one mourned the death of her former corporal, not even his family. “Gaz was an arsehole.” Her intonations was like that of Miranda Lawson, all crisp words and sharp edges. “But he was our arsehole.”   
  
“What made him so much trouble?” Hoorik asked.   
  
“Wouldn’t say he was that, more a pain in the neck. Every squad gets them from time to time. You know, that one guy- has your back in a firefight, but not someone you’d invite to the bar after.”   
  
“I think I understand,” I said, throwing a glance at the camera. Patel would still be watching through it, I had no doubt there. “Is there anything particular that stands out about Corporal Deconnick that you can remember and would be useful to us?”   
  
There was, but she wasn’t saying anything- yet. “Not really. He was good for cigarettes, always had a trade on him.”   
  
This was going to be slow. Hoorik leaned forward, her hands clasped on the table. “Is there anyone you can think of that wanted to cause bodily harm to Gary? It can be a threat, someone that hated him- anything you can think of.”   
  
I thought it was a redundant question to ask of a former soldier, and so did King. “There was a fucking queue of people who hated Gaz,” she said, rotating the shoulder of her good arm. “His old squad for one. He was weird about political shit. Often wondered if he’d defect to Cerberus, but Gaz thought they were useless too. He didn’t have many friends in the bunkhouse, anyway.”   
  
“Any of them capable of following through on their word?” I asked.   
  
“Should fuckin’ hope so mate, they’re Marines.” King gave me another grin, though this time I has to steel myself not to flinch.   
  
I’d seen that smile before. It was that of a profession killer, my father was one. Not that he smiled about his work, despite the pride on his ‘tidy’ wetwork.   
  
_-I am not a jack-booted thug from the Lower Wards, Kolyat.’ He blinked, offended by my-_ _  
_   
No, I saw that smile on soldiers and killers alike, but the vacant stare never matched the expression, no matter the species.   
  
“I read all I could in the files, what wasn’t classified anyway.” Hoorik waved a datapad under her nose. “He was stationed around the Attican Traverse for most of his career, that’s the last stop for the Terminus system. What did Deconnick get up to?”   
  
King’s jaw twitched once. “Classified.”   
  
“A lot of things happen in Terminus,” I replied. “Slavery, pirates, raiders. Deconnick had interesting friends on the Citadel, connections in places a former Alliance corporal shouldn’t.”   
  
Another jaw twitch. “Good on No Mates, he finally made a friend.”   
  
“Gary Deconnick was murdered in the Lower Ward slums he owned. He had red sand forced into his system, was he a user when you knew him?”   
  
That got a surprised look. “No. Liked biotics though, chased anything blue if could get it. He had a _thing_ \- he was still a racist prick, but apparently fucking aliens didn’t count.”   
  
I knew the type only too well. “His ex-Bondmate was asari, did you know her?”   
  
“Yeah. Was there when they met.”   
  
That got our attention. “Where was that, exactly?” Hoorik asked.   
  
King flinched, knowing she had revealed something she didn’t intend to. “We just went to the bar where she worked a couple of times, No Mates was obsessed with her.”   
  
“They had a child together,” I said. “She’s barely two years old. Mr. Deconnick had main custody before he died.”   
  
“I knew he had a kid,” King said. “Some people shouldn’t, but we got a universe to repopulate, I guess.”   
  
“Does Goronak’s mean anything to you?” I wondered if my question would get me a reprimand from Hoorik after the interview, but she gave no reaction to my words.   
  
King frowned. “No. Should it? Doesn’t ring a bell.”   
  
I let the confusing idiom slide. “It’s a bar near the Lower Wards here in Zakera. Has a certain… reputation.”   
  
“Yeah?” she replied. “No Mates liked those kind the best, I remember that. Are we done? Since you’re apparently fishing for nothing.”   
  
A booted human foot kicked my ankle, and I knew Hoorik was annoyed by my clumsy attempt at a lead. Spectres had put a block on Ghorlak Socmahal for a reason, but I didn’t outright name him- just his club. Socmahal was Gary Deconnick’s former business partner in more than just slum management, I would bet my pay check on it.   
  
Hoorik sighed and leaned back, annoyed at both of us. “Of course we’re not done, First Sergeant King. You’ve given me nothing remotely helpful. Tell me me something that is and I can go on with my shift without seeing you or your men again.”   
  
“You mean that?” It was a gentle threat, but Hoorik’s glare was unwavering. King looked away first and stared at her hands, the metal one twitching in sympathy. “Before all the shit exploded on Earth, our MO had already changed. No Mates loved it, he thrived on the chaos.”   
  
“What happened?”   
  
“ _What happened,_ ” King repeated, spitting back the words. “What do you think? The war. Bet you never fired that gun of yours, not as if you can arrest a fucking Reaper. We did what we had to and changed the rules.”   
  
Hoorik’s eyes flitted from the metal arm that hung from King’s shoulder to her pinched face. “I was in London that day too,” Hoorik said, this time gently. “Detective Krios here was on the Citadel-   
  
_-where do you want to stack the bodies?’ he asked, and I adjusted the mask around my mouth. ‘I know turians are funny about the dead, but it’s not as if we can do anything else but-_ _  
_   
-no one likes this game, First Sergeant King,” I heard Hoorik say as I blinked away the memory. “No one comes out winning.”   
  
I cleared my throat and sat up straighter, wordless in my response. Hoorik had laid out our personal traumas on the table like they were case evidence, a reminder we were on the same side of something.   
  
But her Marines were still in our lockup, and we had a murder to solve. King squinted at Hoorik and ignored me, more curious about her fellow human than the 'clueless' drell. “You were Alliance? You don’t seem the type, no offence.”   
  
Hoorik laughed in a way that I knew she meant it, and King smiled back. “Good! None taken. I was a Chief Inspector for a large district in Norway, just over the water from London. I was part of the Home Guard during the War, I can still hold a rifle the right way up.”   
  
“More than some of my new recruits can do,” King replied, a genuine smile still on her face. “Some kid managed to cut his fingers off with his omni-blade last week, you’d think they’d learn.”   
  
There was silence again, but this time comfortable; I knew it was not my place to fill it. “What happened before London that changed things?” Hoorik asked, circling back to her original question.   
  
“Shanxi, Skyllian Blitz, Reapers. A lot has happened.”   
  
We might all be spilling our war stories, but King was still a witness. “After that. Narrow it down,” I replied. 

The question at least made her think about tell the truth, looking away to think it over. “Not much to it,” she said, small mouth grim. “We were trying to find order in the chaos. Push back against the bugs no matter what, even though it felt like throwing rocks into the ocean.”

_-entropy is only inevitable if you believe it,’ Father said, watching the news with me. ‘Tides can be turned back-_

Morality and laws were blurred in wartime, but I wondered just how much for First Sergeant King and her crew. Gary Deconnick’s personal accounts already proved tax fiddling and suspect credits were moved around to hide something, neat and tidy away from his Citadel life.   
  
“You survived,” I said, thinking of Sergeant Phalia. No doubt she was downstairs keeping the Marines company in her custody, amused by the mass of meaty drunk humans.   
  
“Right, so did the cockroaches. Like that’s a special fucking achievement.”   
  
The mood changed. In hindsight, it was a trite thing to say, but Hoorik regained control. “What happened in Terminus space? I know Deconnick was in the Blitz. I also know your team was there just before London doing something, so what?”   
  
King looked at the door, jaw tight again. “I can’t give you specifics.”   
  
“Then give me the tourist version.”   
  
She inhaled sharply before answering. “When things go to shit so spectacularly, you find yourself looking at new solutions that seem unthinkable before it all happened. So we found one. To deal with one solitary Reaper unit, we teamed up with the locals.”   
  
“ _Locals._ ” So far, so vague. “Can you name them?” Hoorik asked.     
  
King shook her head. “Classified. They had the firepower and the men, we only had to look the other way after.”   
  
“For what?” I asked.   
  
“Freedom of movement. That we look the other way for certain operations. That we cooperate and accept their ‘cultural practises.’”   
  
At that I snapped my head up. 'Cultural practises' was a thinly veiled code for batarian caste.   
  
If Bats was here, I’ve no doubt the room would be framed in biotics; he did not like deals with slavers, or those that made them. “Drell have a saying, a leftover from the days of the Spear of Amonkira,” I told her, even though my gut pinched in anger. “ _You can only look over one shoulder, so find another pair of eyes_.”   

“That right?” King said, blinking at me. “I guess staring at a big fucking murder bug is easy to translate.”   
  
“What did your newfound allies have to do with Gary Deconnick and his homicide?” Hoorik asked.   
  
King shifted in her seat. She was ashamed, but the emotion shuttered as briefly as it came. “It broke the idealistic ones first,” she said. “The ones thinking they understood what Marine meant. Arseholes like Gaz No Mates, well- he thrived. His kind do, when the lines get blurry.”   
  
We were getting _somewhere_. Fucking finally. “Thrived how?”   
  
“The leader of this …group we were with, he sent over some dancers and booze as a gesture of good will, a chance to try the merchandise. I told my crew I’d have their balls in a vice if they so much looked at ‘em, but Gary? He wanted to, so bad.” The shame was evident this time. “I think he might’ve, but there was nothing I could do, no evidence. I just politely reaffirmed my orders and shoved him on double shit duty.”   
  
All we had was proof that Gary Deconnick was an asshole. “Why mention this?” I asked.   
  
“Because Deconnick proved the No Mates that he was, and pissed them off after. Something over a poker game, it kicked off a fight anyway. The leader said Gary was ever in his sights after the war, he’d be dealt with. Could be the usual Terminus bullshit, but I don’t know.”   
  
“If you give us a name, it would help,” Hoorik said. “Work out what kind of people Mr. Deconnick corresponded with, and who wanted him dead.”   
  
“Still a long list,” King replied, but then she squinted at Hoorik again. “Not as if you can do shit all in Terminus space. Khorek Drag'sab,” she said, sighing. “That’s it. That’s your name.”

It was something. We had King’s statement and a new lead, but I truly wondering how far we would be allowed to follow it with a Spectre watching our case.

“The more I look into his files, the dirtier it gets,” I said, back at my desk and staring at Deconnick’s suspect accounts again. There was no obvious link to the name given to us by King, but aliases came easy if you knew the right broker.

“Gary Deconnick liked his credits,” Patel said. ‘And his asari. Quite a specialist interest, going by his vid habits.”

Patel’s creepy little smile was enough to tell me what kind of vids he meant. “If we knew what this Khorek Drag’sab used as his contact on the Citadel, maybe we’ll find it tied to Deconnick somewhere. He has a bounty on his head, both in C-space and out.”

“There’s always something. It becomes a routine,” said Patel, and I frowned at his vague answer. “Dealing with slavers, I mean. Once we had anti-ship cannons and kinetic barriers installed on the colony it made a difference, but a family was still taken. People are easy to lose in the system if they’re broken enough.”  
  
_My mother died to slavers,_ I almost told him, but knew I couldn't deal with Patel’s awkward sympathy. “I’m sorry to hear that,” I said.

I returned to Deconnick’s terminal to comb over the the crumbs I found of tax fraud, both in his name and the name of his ex-bondmate. It seemed Jannure did well from his ‘business’ too, even if he left her with nothing after the divorce except court-mandated therapy and limited access to her child.

- _the kitchen was black in the cracks of the tiles from Mami’s blood, why-_ _  
__  
_ I pinched my nose and forced the memory down. Not today, not now. “Gets like that with slave cases,” Patel said, watching me carefully. “You want a gummiworm? I got two green ones left.”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Four thousand victims,” Hoorik said over my shoulder. “On this Ward alone. Nice catch on the tax fraud, by the way. I just got your message in the system.”  
  
I peered through the holo of the monitor at a now looming Hoorik, baffled she was there. I’m not sure how she appeared so fast, a magic trick she did to us all. The only other person I knew who could was my father, and _he_ at least was Compact trained. “I just sent it. Four thousand?” I asked.  
  
“The number of people found in slavery in Zakera last year,” she said. “Trafficking of actual people is a low-risk crime, compared to drugs and guns anyway. Sex workers with barcodes engraved into their skin, cleaners, construction workers- ah, you know how it goes.” Hoorik waved her hands in dismissal. “All easier to hide in plain sight. Everyone assumes it doesn’t happen on the Wards.”

“But it’s just a _contract_ ,” I said, spitting the word out. Slavers never used ‘cultural practise’ as excuse on the Citadel, they weren’t stupid. Instead they hid their dirty work under the desperation of the poor, luring their victims with a promise of a new life on the Wards from whatever hole they were walking away from.  

Even the words _indentured servitude_ were disguised and obscured. I wondered if Deconnick was stupid enough to leave a similar contract lying around at his apartment, a little document for his workers and his tenants somewhere that said: _I own you._

The man turned up plenty of reasons to end up dead, and I forced myself to finish the report despite it.

 _-growing up in Illium you’re taught not to look at anything, much less sign it,’ Ori said. ‘It’s all it takes. Even one fingerprint is enough for the servitude laws. I was homeschooled for a reason, but at the time I_ -

My Ori knew slavers too, and would emphatically state what she thought of this case if I told her. Oriana hated slavery as much as T’Lori, and dealt with the threat of raiders while rebuilding colonies already destroyed by war. Her refugees were still targets, even if the ‘cultural practise’ of slavery was dying out.

Of course I worried at what she did out there in the edge of C-Space, but i could never hold her back from her work. I knew it was an equivalent exchange in worry, and suspected she listened in to C-Sec comms somehow-  or at least paid a broker to give her information on that never made it to press.

“Sometimes we find them, sometimes we don’t,” Patel said, eating the last of his candy.  “The new biometric procedure Customs installs next month will make it harder for the traffickers. _Allegedly_.”

“Oh, allegedly?” Hoorik smiled. “Your faith in C-Sec tech is about as strong as mine, Detective Patel.”

“You’ll love this then. I heard from E-Crime that they’re cooking up some sort of VI for our omni-tools, it’ll connect us to the system 26/7. Apparently it even talks back to us, they’re just working on a model all species can respond to- whatever that means.”

“ _Usch_. A talking wristband watching you work is what, no thank you.”

I passed over the finished report for Hoorik to approve, especially since she was leaning on my desk. Even if the criminal was our murder victim, the charge would still go through; it was enough for a search warrant for his apartments. “Deconnick seemed to be linked to dubious places,” I told her, watching her read the datapad. “You know it. It’s not just fraud, the slavery-”  
  
“No.” It was a word said in quiet, but it was enough. “Evidence first, Detective Krios. Ah! Which reminds me.” A gentle pinch edged my frill with her blunt fingers, and Hoorik tugged once. “I will warn you again.”

- _Kolyat you never listen,’ she said, tugging my frill. ‘Sorry Mother’s aunt,’ I said, though I didn’t mean it. Why did I have to come inside and-_

The gesture was that of a parent to an errant child. It didn’t hurt, but it was humiliating- and I couldn't exactly yank her floppy human ear back in retaliation. “Ma’am?”   
  
Patel was suddenly very interested in his monitor instead of watching us, even though I knew he was an audience, but Hoorik was my boss, not my mother.  “You know you’re not allowed to go after Gorlak Socmahal,” she said. “I did not appreciate your fumble for a connection during the interview with King.”   
  
“Sorry.” I stared above her head, too embarrassed to look anyway where else.   
  
“Justice is very thrilling to chase, but we do it _our_ way. We can work around the injunction, just have to be smart about it.”

‘Yes ma’am.”

Hoorik disappeared as quickly as she came after my scolding, and I tried to not to act like a sulking Fish caught in the trash unit. “You naughty boy,” Patel said, still amused by the frill-tug. “No gummiworms for you, I take it back.”  
  
I knew he had eaten them all anyway. “Fuck off, Patel.”   
  
“Can’t, busy. You sit in the corner and think about what you’ve done.”

My omni-tool blipped before I could reply, T’Lori’s name flashing in holo as the sender.

 _ >bitch owes me a drink, Mira Jannure is piece of work. Got her in for an official talk, something ain’t right. Newbie n me talking to lawyers now, bbl in 30. _ _  
_   
I’m not sure how Bats managed to type like a drunk pyjack even when he was sober, but he did.

_ >don’t tell Hoorik i called her a bitch lol. Vitacus says hi, the fuck newbie why do I have to type that _

We could at least charge Jannure with the tax fraud I found in her name in Deconnick’s files. I sent them both reports to make sure they'd seen it, even if though they could access them from the databank.

_ >ur a nerd _

I swiped away T’Lori’s message window with a stabbing finger, frowning at the new connections he had found. I was not surprised Jannure was suspicious of _something_ ; she had enough motive, I’d seen people murdered for less. Jannure might not be the victim she claimed she was from the divorce, but did she have a part in his murder?

A human was placed at the scene shortly before Deconnick’s homicide buying red sand, the same stuff that choked his lungs and overloaded his system. Asari had enough physical similarities to confuse witnesses, but not a snotty small-time drug dealer who sold the drugs in the first place. Ty’gosh Wey was convinced he dealt with a human woman, and that was that.

After another fruitless search of the accounts I stood up to stretch my arms. “There has to be more,” I said. “His home network is not connected to the monitor, this is just a shell game for his companies.”

“That’s where he’ll keep his large amount of asari porn too,” Patel said, looking up from his own work. I could hear the tinny sound of a cooking show played through his visor, squinting to see if was watching it through the lens. “If I was a betting man, and I am. A hundred credits says it’s the freaky stuff.”

I had no desire to even think what level of porn Patel thought was ‘freaky,’ Arashu spare me. “No deal,” I told him.

“Smart lad. We’ll find out at the end of the day, Hoorik put out a rush on the search warrant. We got enough reasonable intent to poke around now.”

Patel fiddled with his visor and I heard the cooking show again. I was about to when my omni-tool blipped once more, this time from Commander Bailey. _Call_ _you in three. You best pick up. Your ears only, so find a place._

It was not the message I wanted to see. I answered his call on the first ring, lurking in a quiet corridor near the interview rooms. “Now take a good, long hard guess why I’m calling,” he said.

I was unsure why Bailey seemed so cold, but Spectre interference was enough to piss anyone off. “Yesterday’s message.”

He had finally gotten back from my hurried email for help on the Deconnick, a sad desperation for any lead I could find, that I was doing something. “The _Deconnick_ ,” Bailey said, slurring the word so I could hear the scorn. “Got that right.”

“You said I could come to you with politics. I’m just-”

“You be quiet and you listen now.” The line crackled once, and Bailey snorted at my compliance. “What do you think I do at the Academy, boy?”  
  
I chafed at the use of _boy_ , but I would always be that to Bailey. “Commander of Council Liaison,” I said, stating the obvious.   
  
“That’s the title for the desk. What I mostly do is shield the likes of you and the good of C-Sec from the Council’s infinite wisdom,” he replied. “I am the line that stops the shower of shit from raining down on all. I protect you, even if Executor Chellick would throw you all under the sky-tram for a ration packet.”   
  
I was seventeen and in his office again. I owed Bailey so much, and I still had to do it through gritted teeth. “Yes sir.”   
  
“Don’t _yes sir_ me, Kolyat. I know why you called me, I know your heart is in the right place, but-”

Bailey sighed. Another pause, another line crackle. “What happened?” I asked.  
  
“You pulled a thread and someone pulled back. Someone wants to know why you’re yankin’ so hard- so you’re going to tell them. Just you, not your squad.”   
  
_Spectre Tavi_ , that was the name that signed off on our injunction. I assumed Bailey would do his job and liaise, and not throw me to the varren. “Sounds serious,” I said, trying to keep my voice light. “Do I need backup?”   
  
“Of course not. But if you make a scene and it gets out you were talking, I can’t protect you from the shitshow it’ll become. Do you understand?”   
  
I swallowed before speaking, trying to loosen the tightness of my throat. “Who is it?”   
  
“That’s not an answer, Kolyat. Do you understand the situation?”   
  
“Loud and clear,” I said, snapping back. “But who am I meeting?”   
  
“Someone who wants to express the importance of the smooth cooperation between C-Sec and the Council’s Special Tactics and Reconnaissance unit. I told you not to fuck with politics, son. That’s my job.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience in waiting for an update!


	11. Top Of The Wards

The line cracked so much in the silence. I had no idea what to, what to say. “You still there?” Bailey said. He hadn’t finished the call, and I was still on the hook.

“What do I have to do?” I had found my voice again, even if I had to clear my throat first.  
  
“Oh stop that, I ain’t sending you to a firing squad. All you’re doing is having a talk, no need for the dramatics. You made a mess and so did your squad- I know what your CO did with those Marines, Krios. Might of got the job done, but at what cost?” Bailey said, stressing the words. “You leave the handshaking to me. Quit pokin’ away at this one, this is messy. You’re too stubborn to let it all go, I know it.”  
  
Exactly what mess was there in trying to solve a homicide? “But-”  
  
“You’re doing it, no buts.” Bailey said it with the same tone as he used to use when he ordered me to scrub walls and pick up trash. “You ain’t wiggling out of this one.”  
  
_-everything is a lesson,’ he said. ‘You learning, boy?’ I knew I was scowling. ‘That bleach is good for removing the piss stains from-_ _  
_  
“Zakera Point, 14:00 hours,” he said. The memory of stale urine lingered still. “I’ve sent over the coordinates. I got to go, got a meeting. Don’t be late, now. They got a thing for timekeeping.”  
  
_They_ ? The line went dead before I could argue. I had thirty minutes to get there, and with no backup. I had looked up all I could on this Spectre Tavi and came up with nothing, not even a blurry vid still. It was like they didn’t exist.   
  
Whatever was on my face was enough for a pair of constables to give me a wide berth on the walk back to the incident room. T’Lori beat me back to my own desk, sitting on the edge like he owned it. “The fuck is wrong with you, you look like shit,” he said.  
  
I pushed him off. “You’re back, then?”  
  
“ _Duh_ . Gonna help me crack Jannure in the interview? She ain’t happy about the fraud charge, waiting on her lawyer to show. I’m thinking we let her sweat in custody for a couple of hours.”  
  
Today was apparently the day of whittling away the suspects across an interview table. “Later is better. I have to go,” I said. “I have a contact to see.”  
  
I gave him a look, the kind where T’lori knew _what_ kind of contact I meant, the kind we didn’t tell DI Hoorik about. I didn’t want another frill pull from our boss, especially in front of the entire squad.  
  
“You got another refugee to lean on?” T’lori snorted once, then went back to his desk. “Whatever. Fuck off then.”  
  
He made a point to ignore me after his dismissal. Why did he Bats always assume he had to tell me what to? It’s not as if I had any choice thanks to Bailey. “It's not a refugee, or a duct rat. Cover for me if anyone asks, _if_ you can manage it.”  
  
“Don’t get your titties in a twist.” He looked up again, curious at my apparent nerves. “What shit you in now, Kollie?”  
  
“It’s not-” I moistened my lip before speaking again, pushing down my anxiety with a swallow. “I might be. If you do not hear from me by 16:00, something has gone wrong.”  
  
\- _Oh stop it, I ain’t sending you to a firing squad,’ Bailey said-_ _  
_ _  
_ I could see grudging respect from T’lori from the drop of information. My nerves had piqued his curiosity, though who knows what connection he was making. “Huh.”  
  
“I’m taking the O Tram to get there.” I was vague enough to not give away my location, but should my body be shoved into the vents, at least I was on camera somewhere. “I can’t say anymore, I’m not-” I sighed once, then pushed down my worry. “You know how this goes.”  
  
I had to trust Bailey. I had to. “Do I?” T’Lori asked, curious at my scowl.

It was not the first time I followed Bailey’s questionable orders. he had never let me down before, but was it enough to go blindly towards a meeting? “Don’t start shit, Bats.”

“Well. Alright.” He punched me on the shoulder, brow raised. “One of those. From you?”  
  
Between the frill pinch and the arm punch, I had enough of the squad pushing into my personal space. “Yes. Of a sort.”  
  
“Look after yourself, then.” T’Lori probably assumed I was meeting up with a shitty gangbanger in the shadows. He had a foot in the world, so he thought every cop did too.  
  
“Something like. I’ll call you after. Cover for me, I’ll be gone for an hour- if this goes well.”  
  
“You’re in Shin Akiba chasing up the omni-tool lead,” Bats said, the lie falling from his lips too smoothly. “All good.”

What I needed was space to clear my head before the meeting. If you want to feel alone visit the busiest part of the Citadel, no one looked twice even at a drell in uniform. For Zakera it was the Mid-Wards, right where the industrial district edged into the shabbier storefronts and guttering lights of the 800 block. It was one of the first places to function as intended after war; once the looting and the fighting had stopped, the locals picked up their belongings and opened up stores that had been their centuries, sweeping up the glass and and remains to get on with it. The apocalypse was merely an inconvenience, even if half their shop littered the orbit of Sol.

It was also the heartbeat of _my_ Ward, and in my nerves I realised I had walked here on autopilot, lured by the pull of solitude. “Thrice fuck it,” I said, stopping in the street.

But I was never truly alone with a uniform on, lulling myself into a sense of security that wasn’t there. “Come on pal, we’re walking here.” A turian pulled his son closer into his cowl, annoyed by my sudden stop.

“I apologise.”

As soon as I faced him his posture changed. “No problem, officer.” He had shuttered his scowl into something nervous, catching sight of the C-Sec shield on my chest. My jacket always covered the bulk of my uniform, but the observant could smell cop metres away.

Odd that the confrontation would ground me and centre my nerves, but it did. Instead I retraced my footsteps and took the tram, but the looks from the other passengers at my uniform made them uneasy too. I had an authoritative bubble around me again- C-Sec blues always stood out on public transport, no matter what.  
  
Was it something else that prickled my scales on edge? Was my contact already here, trailing me? I looked up at the camera points, then checked everyone in the tram. All I could see was weary travellers, lost in their own boredom, a wash of glowing omni-tools and datapads.

I was safe, for now. My own ‘tool blipped and I fell into my own distraction mechanism, a private message from Ori. They were tempting to read during work, even if I was sinking to the unknown Depths of Hell. I opened it anyway, shifting the interface from public view; she had sent me an empty email with three X’s and O’s as the title, with only a small file entitled _Imbored.vid_ attached.  
  
_-the image played and my stomach dropped. She posed in the bathroom mirror, the lights of the camera shining on her naked-_ _  
_  
What I hoped and what I got where entirely different things. The image from the file itself was cursed, a vid with a wiggling pyjak’s nose, ears and eyes filtered over her smiling face. Not what I had in mind, but the innocence of it was enough to lighten the terror, even if my stomach still rolled in nerves at the threat of meeting Bailey’s contact.  
  
Oriana was clearly delayed in her journey to the colony if she was sending me inane pictures. I sent back a short: _that’s nice_ and set my omni-tool to Do Not Disturb mode, focused now on the task at hand: my meeting.  
  
I had convinced myself Bailey wasn’t sending me to my death, even if Zakera Point was for tourists. I shared the tram’s final stop with a gang of turian schoolchildren herded by their teacher, and confused packs of slow-walking vacationing families staring at the holobooths. 

The tickets for the fucking elevator ride alone cost two hours of pay. It was godsdamn extortion racket to keep the trams running and it chafed to buy one, but the coordinates Bailey sent were clear: _Zakera Point, 15:00. Get in the 4th Elevator and head to the 7th window booth. Your contact will find you. Do not be late._ _  
_ _  
_ The view was good, but definitely not worth the credits. While I could not see my apartment from here, but I could see the block it stood in. With a stab of guilt I realised Fish had been alone for 22 hours, and should I survive the day I would bring back a treat from the rations depot to share for dinner.

My contact had yet to arrive. It was ten minutes past the hour and the booth was full of people, though I was unsure _who_ I was meant to be meeting. An asari in red stared out by the window, taking photos of the vista with her ‘tool; a lonesome krogan, quiet in his thoughts to her right; a human and a turian with their backs to me, muted in their conversation.  
  
“I’m nervous,” the human said, leaning against the window. I could not see her face from the position, but the back of her head was covered with a purple scarf- Ori’s colours, though not her fashion.  
  
While the temperatures were still cold on the Citadel, I wondered if it was cultural. “Of the view?” said her turian companion, tucking the fabric around her neck. “The glass is safe against even bullets, apparently. I wonder how they tested that.”  
  
“Quintus. You know what I mean.”  
  
He cleared his throat. “You have nothing to worry about, babe. Mom and Dad know I like you, and that’s all that matters.”  
  
They took one look at my uniform and I could see the surprise at my presence, and I looked away.  The high vis of C-Sec’s logo glinted in the gloom of the shadows, and no one liked a cop staring at them.  
  
The booth was silent after the couple realised I was here. The krogan was the first to go, too lost in thought to even notice me. The turian and the human nodded to me once as they left; I’m sure they did nothing wrong, but the uniform always made people assume they did.  Instead  I leaned against the window and read Bailey’s message again, even though my eyes were on the the door. It clicked once, locking me in- my contact had made their move.  
  
I had my hand on my holster to face the only other person in the booth. I could see a blur of blue features in the reflection of the glass, smiling at me with muddy features. She looked like a nondescript Mother-aged asari in red out for a daytrip, only there to take holos of Zakera’s vista for her kids.  
  
Two witnesses put either an asari or human leaving Deconnick’s the same night of the murder, but Ty’gosh Wey supplied a human woman with red sand just before. Were they the same person? The fickle memory of other species was often an infuriating workaround, but it was still a connection.  
  
_-all I know was I saw an asari who looked like she didn’t belong here. Too fancy.’ I made a note in the statement: strange asari seen in the street, 160cm. ‘Skinny thing, though. Could do with a meal-_ _  
_  
I had read the stories. I’m told a Spectre could murder an entire street in the Lower Wards and cover it up with a station fire, if they wanted to. They had the authority, but how much of that was a myth, a demon to frighten the populace? The only Spectre I knew was-

_-a fist to my face. I recoil and-_

“You know who I am, I presume,” I said.  
  
“Bailey sent his pet, and his pet is on time.” Her voice was feminine and asari, with an edge of smoke to it. “I thought they’d never leave,” she said.” Apparently that sweet couple are getting married soon. Lovely, don’t you think?”

Now was not the time for small talk. “What do you want?”

“No, don’t turn around. Not yet. Hand off your weapon, there’s a guy. It’s impolite to fiddle with yourself in public.” I heard something rattling behind me, followed by a crunch. “You want a dried tupa berry? It’s salted.”  
  
_-Patel looked at his snack pot thoughtfully after watching me. ‘I’m out of candy. How about some dried tupa bars-_ _  
_  
“No.”  
  
“I always find you C-Sec types are terrible with food. Too much sugar and caffeine- that poison is bad for you,” she said, tutting. “You crash so hard if you indulge. What you need is salt, fats and proteins. Good for stakeouts, keeps you going for longer.”  
  
She laughed in the reflection, though I was unsure at what, and adjusted the fit of her modest-looking blouse. A lecture of healthy eating was not what I was expecting from a Spectre. My contact had all the threatening presence of middle-aged mother one word away from a: _I need to speak to your manager._ _  
_  
“Is all this necessary?” I looked over my shoulder. “I’m not going to shoot, I’m told you want to talk.”  
  
Apparently a look was a move too far. “No, don’t turn around,” she said. “I didn’t say you could.”  
  
A flash of orange ID lit up my omni-tool, overriding the security measures.  _Spectre Authority: Please Comply_ , and I glared at the _please_. “I’m here to talk, so talk.”  
  
“What a demanding young thing you are, how exhilarating. Why, if I didn’t have two bondmates warming my bed already I’d be tempted. I would ask you the same thing, but I already know the answer. So! Eight thousand credits,” she said, and I saw the motion of her clapping her hands in the glass.  
  
“Excuse me?”  
  
“For your cooperation. I just put it your account trace-free, and you walk away- if you drop your interest in Gherlak Socmahal. For ten, you drop the investigation of Gary Deconnick’s homicide entirely. It’s much neater that way, less fuss all round. I’m sure you’ve dug deep enough to realise what a piece of work he was. His death was no loss to anyone, really.”  
  
A pit of anger yawned in my stomach. “You’re bribing me?”  
  
“Well, yes. I can see why you made Detective with such astute observational skills, though I prefer to think of it as more of a gift from the Council. You boys and girls in black and blue work so hard to protect the Wards, after all. You can do whatever you like with it, take that squad of yours out for a drink on me. I know they like to.”  
  
I was not alone in working on the Deconnick. “Eight thousand split five ways is hardly enough for silence,” I said. Even if it was eighty thousand, I would still refuse it. Did Bailey assume I would accept this varren shit of a bribe? He was school C-Sec, even though he hand yet to reach a decade of wearing his badge.  
  
“Oh, budget cuts affect even my department. But I’m sure a smart Detective like you can work out a way to throw your colleagues off the case, and keep this little deal of ours quiet.”  
  
I put my hands on my hips and stared at the ceiling before I spoke. “Why is Gherlak Socmahal so important to you?”  
  
“Straight for the throat, I see. Does it matter?”  
  
Of  course it fucking did. “He’s a piece of shit gangbanger who also just so happened to be a business partner to our murder victim,” I said. “Socmahal profits from Deconnick’s death. Won’t be long until the evidence stacks up. Why do you want him out of the investigation?”  
  
_-Socmahal smiled his answer first, though it never reached his three working eyes. ‘Deconnick was a friend,’ he said. ‘I helped Gary set up his little property idea-_ _  
_  
“That’s the million credit question, isn’t it? Or Eight thousand, in your case. Offer still stands, by the way.”  
  
I refused to answer her question. “You have me at a disadvantage.”  
  
I was going to say more, but she spoke over me. “That’s the point of negotiating. Yes or no? I can make the transfer here and now.”  
  
“May I at least know your name? I only know you as Spectre Tavi.”  
  
“The hanar did teach you some manners in that backwater planet of yours, then. You can call me Isherta.”  
  
I took her sudden drop in name as a chance to face her. “Isherta. I’m Kolyat.”  
  
“I know, the drell detective. Singular, since there’s only one of you in C-Sec. You’re an interesting one,” she said. “It was either I clean the requisition room, or this,” she said gesturing at the air between us. “I’m at a loose end, and I’m nosey enough to wonder why you’re ruining my good work.”  
  
“I am doing my _job_.”  
  
Isherta ignored my anger. “I do so love Zakera Point, I know it’s tacky to. But look at the old and the new skylines, all mixed up. The Keepers may have gone, but we remain. Look at what we can do without their help.”  
  
Her reply was pointless nonsense. “Someone should intervene, the Burrito is an eyesore.” I stared at the offending building a salarian finance firm built in the centre of Zakera, and she stood next to me. The locals had mixed feelings about it, but I thought it was an ugly silver monstrosity. “I don’t know what you’ve got running. Maybe if we could work together and-”  
  
“No. Socmahal is useful to me. A junior detective is not.”  
  
I could look at her now. She was nondescript, a bland asari with average features and pale markings. Good for a Spectre to be so forgettable, I suppose. “He’s a piece of shit slaver with middling connections to larger crime syndicates at best,” I said. “Why him?”  
  
“You can’t see it, too focused on one move,” she replied. She did not deny what Socmahal was, even though we had no evidence to pin on the bastard. “Focusing on the small pieces on the board, when a dreadnought still hides behind a frigate.”  
  
“I’m not a fan of Kepesh-Yakshi,” I said, annoyed at the metaphor. “A strange choice for a Spectre to use to argue their point.”  
  
My response made her curious. “Oh?”  
  
“Because the game centres around the pain of sacrifice,” I said. “Every choice you make, every ship that is taken- you feel. A neuro-shock to the head when you lose a piece is not my idea of fun. I’m no masochist.”  
  
_-why do you think you’re in charge,’ she said, murmuring into my ear. I pulled Oriana closer, my hands around the softness of my waist as her sharp nails dug into the flesh of my fins and-_ _  
_  
“We have entirely different opinions on what Spectres do, Detective. I know.”  
  
“I play boardgames sometimes. Kepesh-Yakshi does a poor job at explaining the real cost of sacrifice,” I said. “The problem with your opening gambit is you assume that your opponent’s response will be sound.”  
  
I was not a fucking piece on her board she could take out with credits, I was no one’s pawn. “Oh my sweet,” she said. “I found the one constable I can’t bribe. How precious.”  
  
“I’m a detective,” I replied, My anger was white-hot ball in my stomach, and I realised my feet had walked to their own accord to tower over her. “No deal to your money.”  
  
Isherta was not impressed. “That’s quite a temper you have.”  
  
“I don’t like bribes.” I forced myself to step back. This woman may look like she was about to pick up her daughters from bioball, but she was still a Gods damn _Spectre_.  “I… apologise.”  
  
“Just because you follow the law, doesn’t mean the law is just,” she said. “How many cases have you thought law has failed your victim? How many people believe in that badge of yours when you use it?”  
  
“I do. It is enough.”  
  
The door clicked open, and I raised a brow. “You can go,” she said. “Though we might meet again, if _I_ choose it.”  
  
The temptation to fidget with my jacket and flick it into shape was strong, but I didn’t want to show my discomfort. “I have questions too.”  
  
“That’s not how this works,” she said. “You’re free to go, little Detective.”  
  
I refused to do as I was told, especially since I was leaving empty handed. “Make me see your side of the board.”  
  
Isherta snorted once, then brought up an interface of her omni-tool. “There’s a reason we met,” she said. “I could’ve done this over email, but I wanted to see you for myself. Yours is an interesting path to C-Sec, Krios. Bailey is protective of you, you know that? Said you were a good kid. Funny thing to call a grown man, but you’ve known him awhile.”  
  
“He mentored me,” I said. The pit in my stomach opened up again. How much would she know about my past?  
  
“I know, what a lovely clean record you have. I even read your pysch evals, I was bored enough. You’re good at bullshitting them into thinking you’re fit for duty. I particularly liked the fiction of you going home every day to talk about your day over dinner with Cat, that at least you share your burdens with someone. Does Dr. Teymari know you’re talking about your illegal human pet, or have you kept that out of the sessions?”  
  
I did not say, _how did you know_ ? While it was invasive, I understood a Spectre’s reach. What I instead found curious is she used an old report from my beat days as a constable, and not the more recent files with the precinct’s mandated therapist. Even Mouse found out about Ori, and despite the squad's pointless wager I knew if they really wanted to find out, they could. Either Spectre Tavi didn’t know, or was withholding what she knew. “Cat or girlfriend, it’s all the same,” I said.  
  
_-who do you like more,’ Ori asked. ‘Fish or me?’ She smiled as she said it, and I knew no matter what I said would not offend her. ‘I’ve known her longer than you,’ I said, watching Fish walk away from us as-_ _  
_  
“With a comment like that, I know why you’re alone,” Isherta replied.

I pushed the memory to one side, relief bubbling over. Spectre Tavi knew shit, and that proved it. I stared at her face, trying to find the break. She had no idea about Oriana, which meant her files were scraped from somewhere old, maybe even pre-war. “Because I won’t accept your bribe? Interesting gauge of morals you have.”  
  
Isherta smiled once, then pulled herself up to her full height. She was still shorter than me -shorter than Bats, even- but she didn’t need the extra centimetres to push her power. “There aren’t many drell called Krios.”  
  
“Around hundred, last time I checked,” I said. “And centred around the dome of Enkindler’s Basket. I know, they’re my family.”  
  
“I bet the universe can name one, though.”  
  
“You know shit,” I replied. “Krios is my mother’s name.”  
  
“Drell are matrilineal, as I understand. Your mother died at home with thirty seven stab wounds to her upper torso and thighs. They even skinned a portion of her stomach, did you know? The autopsy report was a horror vid to read. Apparently you were spared of the sight.”  
  
_-Kolyat, run,’ she said, eyes wide in panic. ‘Through the back door, go as fast as you-_ _  
_  
My hand made a fist before I knew what I was doing. “Enough.”  
  
When the Citadel still circled Earth and I was broken from 24 hour work days, I read the Dome Service police report. Even Cerberus had a copy, and when their databanks went public and the information set free, people across the galaxy could read what slavers did to my mother. I understood what _‘emphysematous changes_ ’ and _‘evidence of exsanguination_ ’ meant now, but even at six I understood the outcome: Mami suffered.  
  
“And there’s the temper again,” Isherta said, smiling again, baiting at me to hit something- the glass, her, myself. “I didn’t even try hard.”  
  
_-don’t cry, Kolyat,’ Mami said, rubbing her thumbs on my wet face. ‘It’s not your fault, it’s only a dropped glass-_ _  
_  
“I read the report,” I said, shoving my hands behind my back. “I know what happened.”

So far this Spectre Tavi had not mentioned my father, or Commander Shepard. “My condolences,” she said. “But it seemed the matter was taken care of, even if the police failed your family. The aftermath reads like an Oath of Subsumation, your father was very thorough.”  
  
There it was. I had to get the situation back and push the boundaries, even if I ignored her play. “Where were you on the night Deconnick’s murder?” I asked. “Did you kill him off because your pet slaver wanted him gone? Was he a loose end?”  
  
Isherta raised her brow, and I could see the smug smile. “You must be especially clueless if you’re asking me. No.”  
  
“Did Socmahal have anything to do with his homicide?”  
  
There was another smile, and this time Isherta closer to me. “For the son of a hired killer, you certainly cling to that badge of yours.”  
  
_-you've spent too much time in the Lower Wards,’ Father said, clearly offended. ‘I am not an inept merc with a custom paint job. The difference between jack-booted thugs and professionals is pride-_ _  
_  
I knew we would have this conversation eventually, especially with a Spectre. A part of me wondered why I was still here, poking away at a wall when I had been let off the hook. “I hardly knew him, Father left when I was six. My memories are only a handful.”  
  
“Oh? She looked me over, curious. There was a spark in her eyes that she blinked it away, a neutral mask back on to hide it.  
  
I understood now what she was digging for, why we had met. She wanted to know about _him_ , not me. She wanted to know about Thane Krios, maybe even Commander Shepard, the Gods Damn Heroes of the Galaxy. “You’re in for a world of disappointment,” I said. Gods know I was.  
  
Even though we shared a family name, it was curious how many had troubles connecting the dots. Why would a son of a hero be buying cat litter on a Friday night? Most people did not make the connection to me and Father unless I told them, and I never did. I had a feeling Hoorik suspected something, however. Patel, Bats and the others on the team remained clueless, and _they_ were detectives. If a bunch of professionally suspicious bastards couldn’t solve the mystery of C-Sec’s only drell, then my past would remain where it was.  
  
The door to the booth had locked again, and I looked up. Isherta wanted complete privacy for the rest of our conversation. “But you met Shepard,” she asked, leaning into me.  
  
And there it was. The real reason I was here. I took a step back to put space between us, my back against the glass of the window. “You’re the Spectre. You’ve met her more than me.”  
  
For some reason, she found this amusing. “I find it’s only my job to sort through the rubble after Shepard’s explosions, I’ve only met the shadows. Do you know where she is?”  
  
All I had was a vague idea and a public Extranet address. Audrey Shepard might’ve been my father’s obsession, but she was not mine- despite our connecting link. How it worked is she contacted me.  
  
_-the email blinked at me, and I sighed. A party on the Citadel, with the galaxy’s finest. Was I just there to remind her of Father? Was I going because-_ _  
_  
“Perhaps.”  
  
“Ten thousand,” she said. “For a location.” Why were the Spectres interested in Shepard? She was one of them, surely they kept in contact. Things like this didn’t come up at her party, for obvious reasons.  
  
_-nah, nah, nah,’ the big tattooed human said to Shepard. Vega, he said he was called. I stared at my drink, unsure what to say. ‘You Spacers never understand proper tacos, that junk they served you in mess was-_ _  
_  
It was on the tip of my tongue to tell her no straight away, but I wanted to see how far she would take this. “Credits aren’t on the table,” I said.  
  
“But information is. You give me Shepard, and I give you information pertinent to your case.”  
  
“Pertinent?”  
  
“I’ll tell you exactly and precisely what I need Socmahal for. Might even let you use my resources for your case, I’m sure a Spectre’s clearance will come in useful for _something_. How about that?”  
  
What she wanted a petty gang lord for was something I could work out on my own, but I wanted to see what else she would give me if I pushed. “We arrest him after you’re done,” I said.  
  
“I’ll think about it. The injunction still remains for now, I’m afraid. I’m understanding enough to let C-Sec work around it, don’t you think?”  
  
The injunction was still a black void sucking our case into obscurity, no matter how we worked around it. “What exactly do we get out of this, then? He’s a piece of shit slaver, and you’re still protecting him. If Socmahal murdered Deconnick, the blood is on your hands.”  
  
“I find blood comes off very easily in the shower,” she said. “Have you even checked his alibi?”  
  
“We can’t check shit because of you,” I replied. “Even if he was in that club of his like he said, a man like that doesn’t do the dirty work- he delegates his thugs. Socmahal is connected, I can feel it.”  
  
I knew we would find evidence connecting both Deconnick and Socmahal to slavery and whatever illegal activities they had running on the side if we poked hard enough. The threads would be dangling for us to follow and unravel, tax fraud was a start.

You can only hide so much money in the universe without it running back somewhere. “Feel something else, I’m afraid,” she said. “Socmahal is mine. We have a separate deal that’s not part of my negotiation with _you_ .”  
  
If the Ward gangs knew Socmahal was a snitch, he’d be murdered on the streets in one eye blink. “He’s not connected to the main three gangs,” I said, curious now. “Keeps himself separate, always has.”  
  
“How many -what was it you called him again, a piece of shit? Well. How many of those do you think I can net with him leashed at my side? How connected do you think he is?”  
  
“Not very,” I said. “You’re not cleaning up the Lower Wards of gang crime, this is for something else. Spectres wouldn’t stoop so low as to doing actual police work.”  
  
At my words she laughed, though I had a feeling I was closer to the truth than she liked. “Oh, Goddess bless you. You really like that Citadel badge of yours.”  
  
We were going nowhere, and our board was at a stalemate. “We’re done,” I said, hands behind my back.  
  
My reaction surprised her. “So, no to Shepard, then?”  
  
“No.” I was not a sell-out, the deal would never have gone through. Audrey Shepard was always safe from me, even if a Gods damn Spectre wanted to know where she was. “You’re giving me nothing.”  
  
“I gave you the chance of ten thousand nothings in your bank account and you refused. That’s on you.”  
  
Money was never a God I prayed to. Father made sure of that through his wetwork, even if I gave most of it away. “I’ll shoulder the burden.”  
  
The door was still locked, no matter what I did. I turned to face her again, frowning. “One more thing before you go,” she said. “Tell your colleagues to stop putting their fingers into places they shouldn’t be. I’ve been watching _her_ , too.”  
  
“Hoorik is by the book,” I said. Apart from her recent strong arming of a bunch of Marines, but that was above board and in procedure.  
  
“Bateseda T’Lori. I know her kind.”  
  
I opened my mouth once, then shut it. “I do not control T’Lori’s actions. He is a grown man.”  
  
“Make them see sense, then- or I will. The injunction still stands, but if you and your colleagues don’t behave, I’ll close your case. I’m sure you can explain that to them, since you’re such a good boy.”

The words chafed, but something wasn’t right. I needed more time to work it out, but she had other ideas. “This is all you have? A waste of time. You can’t just-“

A wave of biotics gently cracked the air. “Enough. I’m leaving,” she said, unlocking the door. “Goodbye, Detective Krios. What a disappointment you were.”

“That so? Go fuck yourself, all you wanted was Shepard’s autograph. Pathetic, even for a Spectre.”

That got to her. Isherta’s biotics flared again, her eyes a cracking blue. “You’re an ill-mannered oaf for a drell. Don’t even think about following me, little detective. Accidents happen, even at the top of the Wards. All very tragic, wasn’t there a jumper last week? Quite how they got through the barriers was impressive.”

I was angry enough to push back now, the words out of my mouth before I could stop them. “You’ll do shit,” I said. “Something tells me you’re not the battlecruiser you’re making out to be. This was all for nothing, _little_ frigate.”

Spectre Tavi glared at me, the light in her hands flaring, and this time I reached for my gun. “I don’t have time for this,” she said. “Leave Socmahal alone. I mean it.”

“Thrice fuck yourself and your deal,” I said over the barrel of my pistol. “We’re done.”

She left without another word. I counted to ten before I exhaled, finally left alone in the silence of my ticking anger. It occurred to me then I had played truth or dare with a Gods damn Spectre, even if my morals were sound. I slid down onto the floor in a slump, back against the glittering view of Zakera, my gun heavy in my fingers.

Arashu fuck me sideways, I was a thousand kinds of idiot. What by the Depths did Bailey _want_ me to even do, it was his fault I came. We needed to speak again; somehow I don’t think pulling my gun on his contact was on list of things to do to a Spectre, but he would have to deal the fallout of his _favour_.

He could explain about Isherta for a start. Something wasn’t adding up, and for all Bailey’s bluster about being the “political protection” for C-Sec, he had to know something about her. There was always talk postwar at depowering Spectres, that they were a relic of the past- a leftover of a cold war against machines. No one wanted brute force when they were rebuilding the galaxy, but they still had claws. _And I had waved my gun at them._

I wondered how much power was truly changing hands at the top, at what the Councillors insisted Spectres should be in the 2190s. It would be a new century soon, change was coming- even the pillars of the status quo could be pushed over, the Reapers saw to that.

But I still had to decide if I wanted to tell the squad what happened, even if T’Lori was covering for me. The threat of case closure remained, but all I got from Spectre Tavi was a mashing of teeth: do what I say or _else_.

Something told me to push back to see what that was.

 


End file.
